Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run
by Voice of the Shadow Realm
Summary: Mello is a hard nut to crack. Keeping people at a distance. He's cold, calculating and temperamental, but why? What caused him to develop such characteristics? Back story to Mihael Keehl
1. Chapter 1

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Howdy do people. It's been so long since I've actually written anything for you to critique. This is due to my laptop's untimely departure of a suspected cardiac arrest, (I'm looking at you Light,) almost a year and a half ago. So here I am with a brand spanking new PC… Okay well, not brand new technically, my budget won't stretch that far. But I'm back, none the less._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. I do, however, own a pair of rather spiffing L cushion covers…_

**Chapter: I**

"Queer." A twelve year old hissed. His taunt was accompanied by a kick to the shin under the table in the mess hall.

"Girly boy." A second boy joined the mockery.

I ignored them and continued pushing the vegetables around on my plate in silence.

Something hit my cheek and slithered off my chin to bounce onto the table next to my hand. A piece of over-boiled carrot lay miserably in a puddle of moisture that permeated its soft form.

I felt kind of sorry for it. The orange of its flesh looked sickly pale, muted and unappetizing. No wonder it hand been used as a projectile.

A projectile flipped at me by a third child, smirking and mouthing similar insults as the previous two boys.

I'm sad to say that I am accustomed to this kind of treatment by now, having spent most of my early childhood subjected to schoolmates ignorant of my gender and simply mocking because I had wide blue eyes and blond hair that was either worn too long or too short, depending on their mood. Children can be so cruel…

As can adults.

My mother's boyfriend, for example. He kindly informed me on a regular basis, sometimes accompanied by a blow that would make my teeth rattle, that I was nothing but a queer bastard. While it was technically true that I was a bastard by definition of the Oxford Dictionary, child born on the wrong side of the sheets, I had never once in seven years expressed the interest in the unsavory and unsanitary passages of the male anatomy required to qualify as gay. That, and the fact that I was only a child of seven. But facts never matter much to the mindset of bullies. The real reason that I am targeted is because I'm soft.

I'm a coward. Confrontations and fighting scare me. From the very first time that my 'dad' beat me and I promptly urinated myself in fear I have been scared.

'Dad' was a tall and strongly built man, not particularly attractive due to years of solvent abuse, a classic addict. He's the reason I'm in this God forsaken Children's Home in the first place.

He knocked up my mom and managed to convince her that I was no longer a priority in her life, not that she took much persuasion. She wasn't particularly fond of me either. Something about me being a spitting image of my biological father, who panicked when she told him she was pregnant and ran out on her. Gee, thanks dad.

I awoke one morning and found myself alone. At first I simply believed that mom and Sir Slap-a-brat had gone grocery shopping and left me behind. Not like that was unusual. So I washed and dressed myself, managed to make a slice of toast without burning it on my third attempt, ate it and waited.

As morning approached afternoon with no sign of my parents return, tendrils of fear began to knot in my belly. What if they didn't come back? What would I do? Who would take care of me? Finally, as the evening closed in so did the realization that they weren't coming back and the knots of fear tightened their strangle hold on me. I was seven. Seven! And they had abandoned me.

Despite all the miseries that they had inflicted on me, I wanted them back. I wanted to be secure in the knowledge that until I was eighteen I had a home. Not a loving one, but still a home. But that had been ripped from my tenuous grasp now and I spent my first night alone sobbing. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be orphaned. I wanted my mom, even if she did let her boyfriend beat me. I wanted to be taken care of.

I curled up on top of my bed at my usual bedtime, squeezed my eyes shut partly to prevent the onslaught of tears and partly because I hoped it was nothing but a bad dream. I only managed to sleep for a few hours before I was startled awake by thumping on the front door. Blinking away my exhaustion, I pushed myself up into a sitting position just as the door slammed open and footfalls thundered into the house. Footfalls that I didn't recognize. The panic came slowly, gradually numbing my mind and limbs. Someone had broken in. It was only when two police officers filled my bedroom door did I scramble up properly.

"Hello there, lad." One with a thick moustache said softly, drawing my focus from his younger colleague who was edging from my line of vision to circle behind me. "We had a report that you've been left here all alone. How old are you son?"

I ignored moustache man, keeping a wary eye on the younger officer who was creeping way too close for my liking. I slid from atop of my bed.

"It's alright son, we aren't going to hurt you."

Each step that 'Creepy" made, I countered. If he stepped to the left then so did I, maintaining a distance that I felt safe with at all times and keeping my bed as a barrier.

"Come on lad. Don't be silly now. You can't stay here all by yourself,"

'Creepy' vaulted my bed handmade a wild grab at me. I dropped to my knees and scrambled under the bed frame, crawling until I was out the other side. I darted at moustache man who barricaded the doorway, gauging his reflex to my movements. He immediately snatched out for my arm as I passed, narrowly avoiding getting myself caught. I managed to elude their attempts at cornering me for a few more minutes; then I misjudged a distance and felt a strong hand seize my elbow. I screamed. Screamed and wriggled and kicked, but it did no good. The officer had no intention of letting me go. I was caught. So I did the only thing that I was left with. I began to cry. "I want my mommy!"

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I picked up my plate and scraped the barely touched meal into the bin and left the mess hall, retreating to the reading room.

That was all about six months ago now. Six months and I still didn't fit in. Didn't want to so I didn't try, preferring to spend my time reading. Another aspect in my nature that the other children bullied me for. I was smart. Smarter than they were, smarter than a boy my age should be. But that wasn't enough for me, I wanted to further myself, wanted to be better. My schooling didn't offer the challenge so I would challenge myself. To grasp at that last fragile strand of hope I had for a somewhat normal future. The future that my circumstances hindered and that my gardian's thought were far beyond my capabilities. I would show them. I wouldn't be beaten.

Picking up a well worn novel, I settled in a corner of the room and propped the book against my drawn up knees. I had read this particular book several times; it was one of my favorites. Snuggling my back into the mound of cushions I began to read. No sooner than my eyes had scanned the first sentence did the book suddenly fly from my hands, scouring a long, deep and painful paper cut along the length of my forefinger.

"What'cha reading there, Bookworm?" A voice demanded from above me.

I didn't look up. There was no need, I knew the owner of the voice only too well. Thirteen year old Jamie Wiltes, one of the worst bullies in the orphanage was standing directly in front of me. He skimmed through the pages of the book then frowned. "There ain't no pictures in this Kheel. How the Hell do'ya read a book without pictures?"

I continued to ignore the boy looming over me, pretending to be so absorbed in inspecting my damaged finger that I was unaware of his existence. The next thing I knew, I was laying face down on the floor, my ribs hurting so badly that I was struggling to breathe.

He kicked me! The bastard kicked me.

Holding back the tears that tried to squeeze from the corners of my eyes, I struggled onto my hands and knees, and then a fist twisted into my hair. Jamie dragged me to kneel in front of him.

"Don't ignore me you little faggot!" He snarled, yanking my head back so violently that I feared he would snap my neck.

More tears sprang to my eyes, forcing the first wave to trickle down my cheeks but I refused to whimper. I refused to even acknowledge him… until he crashed his fist into my temple. The blow knocked me from his grip, though I left him a few golden strands wrapped around his fingers as a parting gift.

"Get up!" Jamie growled, kicking me in the side again. "Get up and fight back Nancy boy!"

My shoulders shuddered as I heaved, sucking in great mouthfuls of air to cool my burning lungs. I was getting sick of this. Getting beaten up on an almost daily basis. Bullying is a part of every child's life growing up, I knew this. But bullies are usually ignorant and stupid, picking the most sensitive abnormality of their victim's life and using that as the basis of their ammunition. Being violent over something that they don't understand or to deal with their own insecurities was their only consistency in the world.

But Jamie knew. Jamie was an orphan too. And what he did to me was torture. After a few more painfully long and violent minutes I was rescued by one of the social workers. And for once I was thankful for being small and skinny for my age as the woman was able to snatch me up in one arm and still grab Jamie's sleeve with the other, dragging him behind her as she carried me to the house. Once inside, the woman deposited Jamie in the hands of the head social worker before carrying me to the small sick room.

I peered over her shoulder, watching as Jamie was ushered into an office to receive his punishment.

_Just you wait Jamie. One day you'll get yours. Just you wait._

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And that's chapter one done.

Oh my God I'm rusty; some nice reviews might help me limber up. Wink wink


	2. Chapter 2

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Okay, this story is begging for me to at least get to the introduction of Mello to Matt as soon as possible, despite the fact that we're chapters away from that. So here I am putting my computer through its paces just for you guys. I feel kinda guilty letting Mello get the crap kicked out of him, making him into a pathetic and sniveling little waif… sorry Mell's. This chapter was only half plotted so please forgive my sucky writing. I'm writing this to 'The Tears Don't Fall'._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. Though I am slowly making the characters permanent tenants upon my arm via my amazing tattooist…_

**Chapter: II**

That one day came sooner than expected. A few days after I had recovered from my injuries, I began turning my attention to learning to fight. I had no choice. It was a cat-eat-mouse existence in this Hell hole. And I am the mousiest of mice in here. Hell, the other 'mice' might try to take a bite out of my ass I'm that low down the food chain.

As I have said, I am far from stupid. I didn't rush off and immediately pick a fight with the meanest, ugliest brute I could find.

No.

I started by watching playground scuffles escalate into brawls. Trying to memorize moves and counters and grapples as best I could before high-tailing it out of there as the social workers came to break up the scrappers. Being caught would seriously damage my chances of spying on other fights and furthering my new obsession.

I took time learning each move and counters. Training myself in the bathroom, watching myself in the mirrors for the pro's of one throw over another and the cons of another blow to the first. Tweaking the choreography until it suited my body and strengths.

The practices continued for months, until I felt confident that I could execute each one reliably. My next challenge was to learn how to choose each move best suited the situation in the split second between a bloody nose for me or my opponent. Unfortunately, the steps to this next conquest involved actually fighting. I couldn't learn to anticipate moves by sparring with the toilet roll holder, though on the upside, I could also build up my reputation a little this way.

I started by throwing myself in multi-combatant fights, the playground version of gang warfare, hard to pick out one fighter from another and if by some miracle I was spotted, I could claim that I was simply sucked into the fight and swept along for the ride.

No harm no foul.

Eventually I was involving myself in the fights and wanting other children to see me. I never cared what the fights were over just cared that I was landing a few blows without receiving too many in return and always helping out the underdog.

Inevitably I ended up acquiring a small group of followers. Not friends. Just a group of smaller, younger, or downright cowardly children seeking protection from being trampled by the more rambotious children of the orphanage. Happily accepting that the boy that they themselves had mocked was their protector.

Soon after my eighth birthday my opportunity to fight Jamie arrived.

My new reputation gave me the confidence to stop hiding away from everyone and I now often read my books out in the open for all to see. Occasionally I caught the butt end of a joke aimed at me, maybe a snigger or two, but a coolly level stare in their direction sent the offending children scurrying off to another part of the playground or playroom.

I was comfortable under a tree outside, book open across my lap and drowning in the lavish descriptions of Dickens when a pair of beaten sneakers appeared in view and I knew Jamie was standing over me.

"I hear that you've toughened up Keehl. Been causing a few problems for my boys. But that can't be true can it? You traded in your fanny for a set of balls?"

I didn't even glance up. Just calmly turned the page and continued reading, which seemed to irritate him somewhat.

He kicked the sole of my foot. "Hey! I'm talking to you, you little arse fucker."

Finally I dragged my gaze from my book to lazily peer up at him from under golden lashes in as bored a gaze as I could muster despite the fact that my heart was trying its damndest to pound its way out of my ribcage.

He smirked, having gotten my attention at last.

Wordlessly I marked my page before standing,

Jamie immediately dropped into a crouch. Readying himself for an attack. I instead I turned my back on him and bent to gather my book from the ground, showing him I wasn't afraid of him anymore.

"Face me!" He snarled.

"Why? I know what you look like."

I could almost see him grinding his teeth together in frustration behind me in my minds eye. His temper, bubbling mere degrees below eruption.

This was it.

_Three…_

_Two…_

_One…_

He sprang, I turned and we hit the ground rolling. Jamie was older, stronger, but I was faster and smarter. He pinned me within seconds, sitting on my middle and holding my wrists beside my head.

"Still a weakling." He sneered, his lips twisting into a smirk of triumph and contempt.

I wriggled feebly and forced a whimpering sob from my throat to cover a curve to my lips.

He leaned down, his jaw working like a cow chewing its cud, collecting saliva to spit in my face. Just as he leaned closer to deliver his vile gift I attacked. Smashing my forehead against his nose with a sickening crunch.

Howling, Jamie back-peddled and thumped from his perch atop of me, cupping his bloodied nose.

A couple of children wandered over, horrified delight creasing their faces. Fights were common enough but to see Jamie Wiltes on the receiving end was refreshing and exciting enough for them to forget their fears a begin to encircle our battle.

As the fight progressed more children arrived and Jamie grew more concerned for his reputation.

Whispers had started. Mocking him.

"You gonna cry Jamie?"

"Can't even push queer Keehl around anymore."

Jamie's embarrassment fueled his rage, which is what I had been waiting for. He let out a roar and swung his foot at my head, then his eyes widened in shock as I caught his ankle. He looked ridiculous. Hopping on one foot, arms wind-milling vainly for balance. His humiliation was almost worth all those injuries that he had inflicted upon me over the last eighteen months. Almost, but not quite…

I smirked at him as he stared back. I had won this fight and he knew it. All he could do was wait for me to deliver my final blow. Then his face paled in horror as he realized just what he had left vulnerable to me.

I could have really hurt him, could have kicked him between the legs and made him choke on my name. But I didn't.

It was enough for me that Jamie knew that I could do it.

Instead, I used the flat of my palm to lock his knee and drive him to the hard packed earth with a thump.

To my surprise Jamie was smirking up at me. Though I could tell he was winded by the grim tautness of his lips, he was grinning like some sadistic Cheshire cat. Then he began to wail.

Confused, I cocked my head at him, and then felt a heavy cuff upside my ear. Whirling around, I found myself staring up at one of the social workers. Her face creasing with anger. "You horrid little boy!" She screeched, hitting me again. "Vicious and spiteful. What on earth possessed you to attack him so violently?"

I was stunned. Jamie had picked on me every single god forsaken day since I'd arrived here and _I_ was violent?

Tears sprang to my eyes at the unfairness of it all. I glanced expectantly over my shoulder at the other children. The ones who had suffered just as much as I had curtosey of Jamie's ruthless battering and bullying. The children who had been cheering me only minutes ago.

No one cheered now. No one even tried to argue my case; they'd all slunk away to their respective corners and groups, leaving me to face the consequences alone. That was the second hardest lesson I had learned in my short life; friendship only lasts as long as you prove useful to another.

"But he started it!" I protested weakly, putting my arms up to protect my head only to suffer a worse humiliation. The woman slapped me across my rear. I was horrified.

My own mother had never spanked me. Sure she'd hit me, but never spanked me.

Humiliation and outrage burned on my cheeks and as her hand drew back for a second swipe, I dodged and howled. "You won't listen! He started it! Jamie did, not me. I was protecting myself. Are you so stupid that you can't understand that?!"

Her face contorted into a grotesque mask of anger,

"How dare you?" She hissed, snatching me by the wrist and pulling my arm over my head, twisting and jarring my shoulder so painfully that I howled. "Let go! You're hurting me!"

She ignored my cries and kept up on the pressure. I strained to try and pry myself loose but I was too short to reach her hands, all I could do was twist and pull which only caused more pain.

"Let go! You're going to dislocate my shoulder."

Still her grip never slackened. So I did the only thing that I could think of. I drew my foot back and kicked the woman in the shin. Her response was immediate and expected. With a shout of surprise and pain, she let me go.

I bolted before she could straighten and grab me again. Fleeing towards the boundaries of the orphanage, squeezed under the thick bushes that hemmed the grounds, scrambled over the rickety fence and froze when my feet touched the sidewalk.

I was out.

I had escaped and yet my legs refused to move.

Then commenced the longest five minutes of my short life in which I could hear voices shouting behind me, traffic blaring ahead and fear muddling my brain and clouding my judgment. I just trembled.

Then the wooden slats of the fence rattled behind me as someone bodily clambered up the other side. That one terrifying noise made my decision for me.

I ran.

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And there's chapter two. Just an FYI I'm British and hence the word 'fanny' means something else than backside in the American use of the word. In the British sense its slang for female genital and as Wammy's is situated in England so does this story.


	3. Chapter 3

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Argh!! Why the hell did I decide to set this so far back in Mello's past? Why did I not just start with the original first chapter? It would have been easier for me, but noooo I had to start before Wammy's. Grr, I hate myself. Anyway's thanks for the support sparklyemerald. I'm kinda hoping that this is the last chapter before Wammy's but let's sees shall we?_

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note._

**Chapter: III**

_I was out._

_I had escaped and yet my legs refused to move. Then commenced the longest five minutes of my short life in which I could hear voices shouting behind me, traffic blaring ahead and fear muddling my brain and clouding my judgment. I just trembled. Then the wooden slats of the fence rattled behind me as someone bodily clambered up the other side. That one terrifying noise made my decision for me._

So I ran. Darting out into the road without so much as a cursory glance in either direction and almost disappearing straight under the wheels of a transit. Tires screeched, a horn blared and I froze like a deer caught in headlights as a barrage of obscenities poured from the rolled down window.

"Stupid little fuckwit!" The driver leaned from his window, his face red and splotchy and the whites of his eyes rolling with adrenaline. I wasn't sure who was more scared at that moment, me or him. Then his rage consumed his concern and he hollered. "Next time I'll make sure I fucking hit you and drag your sorry arse to Cardiff and back!"

Me.

His hollering did little to convince me to move from his path and scurry to the safety of the opposite curb though, despite his threat, he made no attempt to splatter me over his windshield. Instead he slammed the horn again, startling me from the horrible images my panicked brain was conjuring of me as road kill.

I jumped and dove for the pavement, scraping the palms of me hands and skinning my knees before hauling myself up and shoving between the legs of pedestrian traffic. Bumping so heavily against the legs of one man as I scrambled out of the way of another that I almost toppled him. I glanced up at him as he looked down, his watery blue eyes soft and grandfatherly, his thick white moustache twitching as his lips smiled beneath them, but I couldn't stop. I had to keep running. So, with a sorrowful look and an apologetic mumble, I bolted.

I didn't stop running until I had made so many wild twists and turns that I wasn't sure I was still in the same county anymore. Just wanting to put as much distance between me and the children's home and that man I'd tripped as possible. Exhausted, hungry and scared, I let my legs stumble to a stop. After a few long deep breaths to soothe the fire in my lungs, I allowed myself to take in my surroundings. To my surprise I found myself standing at a bus shelter, the orange plastic bench inviting me to sit a while and rest.

I obliged, scrambling up and scowled with distaste, the plastic feeling as greasy as it looked under my fingers, but I was so very tired. Once settled I slumped my back against the shelter wall and inspected the grazes on my palms. Nothing too severe, although they stung like crazy and bled a little. My knees were worse by far, blood was running down my shins and I could see grit in the cuts.

I wiped away as much dirt and blood as I could. Maybe, if I was lucky, someone would feel sorry for me and donate bus fare to- I glanced up at the timetable and map, studied it for a moment before deciding that nowhere was far enough away for me. But Lady Luck had never been terribly fond of me. So I just sat there. About twenty minutes had passed and I'd spent that time staring down at my scuffed and beaten sneakers swaying in and out of my vision as I kicked my legs. So far I had ignored two buses and a couple of pedestrians who pointed and murmured about me before walking on.

I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed a sudden impending whimper. What the hell had I been thinking, running away like that? Didn't I know that when I returned to the home I'd be in serious trouble? I seemed to have acquired a knack for getting myself into trouble without figuring out a system for getting myself out of it again. Still unsure of what to do, I felt a shadow fall over me. Prying my eyes open I looked up, startled. Sunlight blinded me. Distorting the form, so, for and instant the figure standing over me seemed alien, unfamiliar and vaguely menacing. I cowered, frozen in fear…

The man that I'd bumped into earlier stood before me. "Hullo, lad. May I sit?"

I shrugged and scooted a few inches over on the plastic bench, lips twisting in disgust as my rear glided too easily over it. I put my arms down on either side of me and hunched myself back into my small frame, hoping that the man didn't choose to talk to me again. For a few moments I managed to inspect that mark on my sneaker and decided that it was a scuff and not a smudge, before the man spoke again.

His head inclined toward me and I flinched.

"So, where are you traveling to this fine day?"

I shrugged kicking my feet harder. "Nowhere."

His brow puckered slightly. "You must be going somewhere. Everyone has a destination in mind before they set out on an exhibition."

I shook my head. "This 'exhibition' wasn't exactly planned.'

"So you're running away? Won't you mother be concerned for your safety?"

Again I shook my head. "It didn't bother her when she left me behind almost eighteen months ago." I swiped my sleeve across my nose. To my frustration, tears threatened to spill down my cheeks.

The man tsked and reached into his pocket and offered a tissue, I took it and wiped my eyes and nose gingerly. "Allergies." I informed him.

His lips twisted into a knowing smile. "Of course."

We sat in silence again until my curiosity overrode my state of nonchalance "What about you?" I asked. "Where are you going?"

He smiled. "Nowhere."

I frowned, was he quoting me or was he really just idling. Before I could voice the question he answered it.

"Well, not by means of public transportation. And not without returning you safely home first. The streets are not safe for a child at night. There are some rather unsavory individuals that roam in the darkness, just waiting to take advantage of a young boy in the emotional state that you are currently in. Pedophiles, Traffickers to name but a few."

"And how do I know that _**you're**_ not a pedophile. You followed me here. That doesn't make me want to trust you." I questioned, raising a brow.

The man laughed suddenly. "My, you are an intelligent boy aren't you. But ask yourself this. If I were any of those things, wouldn't I have snatched you the moment that I arrived here?"

I frowned and considered this. "Maybe. But still, you followed me here."

"True, but only because I was on my way from the AppleGate Children's Home." He pulled a document from his inside pocket and pushed it into my hands. "I had an appointment with Mr. Johnston to arrange a transfer for you to my Institution. Not ten minutes before you bumped into me I had received a telephone call informing me of your sudden departure from the grounds and was asked to assist in the search."

"I still don't believe you." I said firmly. Though with slightly less conviction than before.

"And quite rightly so. One can never be too careful in these uncertain times. Would a phone call satisfy your concerns as to my honesty?"

I nodded dumbly, still staring at the document in my hands until a cell phone was pushed into my hands.

"H-hello?"

After a few minutes I handed the phone back to the gentleman, my expression blank and unreadable. Mr. Wammy, as I had been informed during the conversation, had been telling me the truth. He was taking me away from everything that I had hated in AppleGate and taking me somewhere better.

Still numbed by the news I slid from the bench. He took me by the hand and led me toward a smart looking black car that I hadn't noticed idling nearby. He opened the door and held it for me, pinning me with those gentle watery blue eyes.

"Well Mihael, are you ready to trust me?"

That was it. The final piece of proof I needed. He knew my name, had the documents, Mr. Johnston had confirmed it for me that this man could be trusted. My lips curved into a wide grin and I dove into the car.

Maybe Lady Luck had finally changed her mind about me.

_**End Author's Note:**_

_Damn I hate filler. I hope the whole proving that 'Watari was not a pedophile wanting to kidnap Mellos' piece wasn't too flimsy. I kinda backed myself into a corner with that one; Mello's too smart for his own good. But I did want to add a little bit of his desperation to get away from his current orphanage. But yay first bit of Matt and Mello in the next chapter. It will explain more to the birth of their friendship and the whole Library scene mentioned in 'If You Jump, Then I Will Too.'_


	4. Chapter 4

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Lord only knows why I'm uploading the fourth chapter in five days, I haven't slept properly since Wednesday and I'm shattered. Work is really doing a number on my nerves and my new piercing is being insolent and sore. But enough with my boring life and on with the show…_

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note._

**Chapter: IV**

Over the next few days, my mind and basic socialization skills that I had learned as a toddler went into overdrive. Children, their ages ranging from a mere five years old right up to teenagers bordering on the age of graduation, sparsely populated the many rooms of Wammy's House, reading thick novels, or studying textbooks for the advanced lessons we were expected to attend, and some of the older children could often be heard loudly debating politics.

Though, every now and again a small gang of children could be seen actually engaging in childish games or playing with toys supplied by Mr. Wammy's fortune.

I learned best the way most children learned: eavesdropping and watching. After a day or two of my observations, I felt I had learned enough that I could skate along under the radar without disrupting anyone else's routines and drawing any unnecessary attention to myself…

Until _**he **_stumbled upon me.

I was sitting in the library, nose buried in a textbook in preparation for my introduction to Wammy House's strict and grueling education system. I had barely glanced up from my notes when the door opened and closed soon after I had entered myself, only catching a whisk of white as whoever it was shuffled around an opposing bookshelf.

However, when the door clicked open the second time, something in my brain insisted that I tear my focus from my studies and glower at the boy who had disrupted my work.

He was small. Smaller than me, and looking even smaller because he was hunched over a small console gripped in his hands, thumbs flying over buttons and leaving electronic blips hanging in their wake.

I found myself unable to look away as the boy navigated his way around the scattered shelves and desks with what seemed to be a practiced ease, I was intrigued. He continued, blissfully unaware of my gaze upon him, until his hip caught a table corner and a pained gasp burst from his lips as he staggered a step or two before righting himself.

Finally his head came up, his reddish brown hair falling around his ears and over glas… were those goggles?

His entire posture read that of a sleep walker suddenly wakened in his travels, and bewildered as to his whereabouts. Then his shielded eyes fell on me and I braced for his first insult.

It never came.

His focus darted between me and his console, his lips twisting as he struggled to decide between his source of entertainment and his source of curiosity.

Curiosity won out.

He pressed a few buttons, waited a moment and then shoved the toy into his back pants pocket and grinned.

Numbing fingers of anxiety raced along my nerves. I knew the grin was friendly but the flash of bared teeth dragged up images of the boys at AppleGate. Those sneaky, sneering boys like Jamie; who had tormented me until I had cried myself to sleep at night. But that was what felt like a lifetime ago now. I would not go back to that quivering little boy I had been.

Bullies and potential bullies can sense fear and right now I must have been stinking of it, but the boy either didn't notice or he was screwing with me.

I refused to be the underdog. Not this time. Bravado worked in the animal kingdom, maybe it would work here.

So I bared my teeth back in more of a snarl then a smile. He seemed to accept my gesture as a returning smile and his grin widened. He leaned closer, gripping my desks edge.

"Hi." He said. "You must be the new kid. I heard from Roger that Wata…" His mouth kept on moving but I stopped listening.

He leaned in closer, his face a scant few inches from mine. My shoulders tensed and I dug my nails into my thighs under the table in an attempt to control my anxiety as I met and held his gaze. He looked uncomfortable and turned away first and I allowed myself a half smirk of triumph- until I saw a movement from his arm.

The synapses in my brain went wild, perceiving his movement as an attack.

I simply reacted. Springing onto my seat and vaulting the desk. Grabbing his shirtfront as gravity took hold and I crashed down atop of him, my papers and pen clattering around us as we landed and his cry floating around my ears long after the dust had settled.

The boys' eyes widened behind his goggles as he finally recognized my snarl, accompanied by a low growl, as the threat that I'd intended it to be, rather than the greeting that he'd first thought it to be but he did not struggle. For a long moment neither of us moved, until an acrid scent wafted up into my face.

Frowning, I ducked my head and saw a dark stain spreading over the crotch of his pants. Lifting my head again, I fixed the boy with a look of disgust and wrinkled my nose at his lack of worthiness. A red flush settled across his nose and he looked as though he would burst into tears at any moment.

Then a hand grasped my arm roughly and hoisted me over my opponent's body and propelled me from the library. I turned my head over my shoulder and took one last look at the boy, who was sitting up now, his expression radiating no anger toward me just confusion.

Then I understood.

Any struggle for dominance had existed only in my mind, the boy had no hidden agenda behind his greeting and I had allowed my insecurities cloud my judgment. For the first time in my life I felt guilty and more than a touch of shame.

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I lay in a miserable little ball, curled atop of my comforter. I had changed my damp pants for fresh ones, and my eyes glistened with the wetness of unshed tears. I had been deposited here over an hour ago now, the young man had gone, most likely to fetch Watari and make arrangements to send me back to AppleGate.

I curled deeper into the warm linen and screwed my eyes into my fists. Watari had promised me that behavioral issues were not uncommon here, most of the children struggled with their own problems surrounding their orphan status and that they were an obstacle that could be worked on and overcome. He had promised that I would be looked after here as long as I needed.

Had he been lying?

Self pity is never admirable but there is comfort in wallowing.

A few minutes longer and my bedroom door opened. I clenched my eyes shut, feigning sleep as my mattress dipped behind me in response to someone clambering awkwardly onto my bed.

A gentle but pointed clearing of his throat announced that my sleeping act was not convincing.

"It is difficult, isn't it?" His voice was soft and so devoid of emotion that it almost seemed tender. I ignored him. Light fingers brushed my shoulder and I tensed. He was trying to sympathize with me, though it was fairly obvious that he felt uncomfortable in doing so. "It's difficult not to lash out in defense. Basic self preservation demands that much of us. Strike fastest. Strike hardest. A primitive, yet effective response in a stationary existence."

The mattress dipped again as he shifted. "But adaptation is how a species survives in a constantly changing world. Choosing pieces of tried and tested methods and weaving them into a new pattern to further survival. Perhaps it is time that you learned to adapt also. Try a new approach to a new environment."

I cracked an eye and inclined my head over my shoulder toward him, barely making sense of the blurred figure bordering the edges of my vision, my mind pouring all of its energies into decoding that deliberate fragment in his speech. "So, I can stay?"

"Of course. Though, I must insist that you apologize to Matt. The poor boy is quite traumatized by the events that unfolded in the library."

I pushed myself to roll onto my back and finally able to study the young man.

He would be tall but he was squatting on his toes, the curve in his shoulders though, seemed to be a permanent aspect of his posture. His wide, gun-metal eyes were sunken and ringed with heavy black bags. A plain, long sleeved T-shirt and faded jeans that looked at least two sizes too large for his slender frame swamped him and his tangle of black hair tumbled into his eyes, giving him a mysterious air.

I did not realize at that time that I was, in fact, gazing at the man who would shape my future. The man who I'd ultimately learn to both love and loathe. I was staring at L.

He jumped from my mattress far more nimbly than a man, who looked as haggard as a beggar, should have been able to manage and straightened. Well, straightened as high as his slouch would allow and gestured for me to follow.

"Come."

His voice held far too much authority in such a monotone command that I found that I couldn't help but scramble after him like an obedient puppy and follow him from the room, trotting eagerly at his heels.

It was the first time that I hurried after L, following in his footsteps. Completely engorged by his shadow, But it certainly wouldn't be the last.

_**End Author's Note:**_

_Aww. Poor Matty, he was just trying to be friendly. Well I decided to split this chappy in two, it would be way too much for me to type in my current exhaust state. Hopefully there aren't too many errors in this chapter._


	5. Chapter 5

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Thank you for your concerns of my health. I'm okay. I have tomorrow off and after my housework I'm aiming to get a few more chapters up. In response to __zchocolatebunniesrulezworld__'s comment my piercing is partly helping me slip into an actual career. I'm going to start training as a tattooist and piercist and will soon be undergoing an experimental piercing procedure know as skin divers. It is important that I know what kind of pain I will be inflicting upon my clients. Anyways here's the next installment. _

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note._

**Chapter: V**

Today had been a disaster so far, and now it was fast hurtling toward becoming a catastrophe.

L led me to an impressive office, and to my horror, strode right in without even a cursory knock to announce his presence. I stopped sharply at the threshold; lessons learned as a youngster demanded that I obey basic protocol and await my access to be granted.

L returned to my side, his thumb pressing to his lips as he studied me. "Why have you stopped?"

I frowned. Did he really have such a lax grasp on manners?

"You shouldn't just enter a room, it's rude." I said.

L pondered this for a moment, one dark brow lifting a fraction of an inch. "Is it? But our presence was already anticipated and therefore the door was already open as invitation."

"Yes but, it's still common courtesy to wait for acknowledgment." I protested.

Before L could continue his debate with me over proper etiquette a voice chuckled from inside the room. "Let's not heckle the boy."

I peered around the form slouching in front of me and spotted Watari sitting behind a desk that looked as though it simply erupted from the floor. Two over extravagant chairs were positioned in front of the desk. His fingers were laced together beneath his chin as he peered at me over his spectacles. "Please Mello, won't you come in?"

Mello. My new name. It still sounded strange to me though it seemed to roll easily from Watari's lips. I shot a triumphant glance at L. Watari understood.

I stepped into the room and made my way over to the desk. With every step I took a small electrical blip sounded.

My brows tugged together with confusion until I pulled alongside one of the seats.

It was already occupied.

Matt was curled happily in the sanctuary of the piece of furniture, knees drawn up and feet resting against the armrest, his reddish brown hair looked more brown when wet. He had obviously showered, and now wore a black and white striped shirt. His goggles were shoved up in his hair, keeping the wet tresses out of his eyes as he played his game. They were green.

"Manners please Matt. We have company." Watari gently chided the boy.

Matt sighed, saved his game and pocketed the console before lifting his head. Eyes moving up and meeting mine before he suddenly yelped in surprise and scrambled backwards, yanking his goggles down over his eyes and toppling over the armrest.

He thumped to the floor and I rolled my eyes.

What a klutz.

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When I left the office I had a new accessory in tow.

Matt.

It had been decided that Matt and I were to be assigned a shared dormitory. He was to be my companion and help me adjust to life at Wammy's and I was to keep an eye on him. Apparently, his sense of direction and his grasp of reality left a great deal to be desired, no surprises there.

This was great. My tolerance for others was already lacking but now I had to baby-sit this little geek as well. It wasn't fair.

"Mello? Hey, Mello, wait up."

I set my jaw and quickened my pace with every intention of ditching the little pest.

"You're going to get lost if you keep this up. Watari said-"

I whirled round on him. "I don't care what Watari said. I'm not going to have some ginger brat dogging every step I take in this place. Now just leave me alone!"

Matt pulled up sharply, his eyes looked huge behind those golden lenses, magnifying the hurt and shock. "But I thought that we could…"

My eyes narrowed at him. "You thought what? That we could be friends?" I sneered at him. Such a naive little squirt. "Listen kid, here's what's probably the most important lesson you'll ever learn. Friendship is a fantasy, only lasting until your usefulness runs out."

Matt just stood there, his head lowered to stare at his feet. "I don't believe you." He mumbled.

I snorted. "You don't believe me? Well, so what. That just makes you stupid." I swung around and headed further down the corridor, tilting my head over my shoulder in time to catch Matt about to take a step after me. "And quit following me!"

After about five minutes of walking, my quick pace slowed and I stopped. I glanced over my shoulder and saw no one behind me. Loneliness constricted my chest, but what had I expected? I had told Matt not to follow me and he hadn't, though I kind of wished that he had. Muttering a growl and putting my hands on my hips as I scanned the corridor.

I was lost.

Stupid Matt for being stupidly right.

I wandered further along the halls, mentally mapping my paths this time until I heard the muffled voices coming from ahead.

Curious, I strained my ears and as the voices grew louder my belly knotted uncomfortably. I recognized one of the voices.

The younger one.

Matt.

"Can I have my game back?"

"What's the magic word?"

The second voice sent a chill down my spine. I could feel the spite in the tone as though it were palpable. It was the tone of a bully.

Immediately I was a flung back to being a cowering seven year old at AppleGate, trembling and biting back tears as the taunts buzzed around my head like stinging insects.

"Can I have my game back _**please**_?"

I crept to the doorway which stood slightly ajar to my right and peeked around the corner. Inside, a tall boy; his face pocked with acne, bore down on Matt with a wide shark-like grin plastered across his lips. He dangled the console above Matt's head trying to bait the younger boy into snatching for it.

"Come on Matty, jump!"

The chill that raced along my spine gave way to a strange warm feeling. My lips pulled away from my teeth and, to my surprise, I felt an urge that startled me. The urge to protect Matt.

I recognized the unfairness of the situation. The boy was at least twice Matt's height and twice his strength, the games console was indeed Matt's and therefore, in every aspect, he was the wronged party. Getting his console back would be nice of me, perhaps I-

I clenched my lids together and shook my head. I didn't want to get involved in this.

Why should I? No one had ever stood up for me.

But Matt was different. He was genuine and innocent and probably still believed in Santa and the tooth-fairy. In short Matt was still a kid in more than just physicality. My time at AppleGate had forced me to grow up mentally, Matt obviously hadn't.

"Come on Lai. Why are you being such a dick?"

I flinched. _Stupid move Matt. Really, really stupid._

Lai's face creased into a frown and his voiced chilled. "You calling me a dick, Matty? Now why would you say that?"

"Because you're acting like one." Matt said his voice quivering as he backed up a step. "You snatched my game.'

Lai lowered his arm and eyed the console in his hand. "So you want your game back?" He waggled the device in front of Matt's nose.

"Yes,' Matt paused. "Yes please Lai."

The older boy smirked. "Here, catch."

He whipped the console against the wall by my hiding place, snapping it along its hinge. As the plastic shattered so did Matt's expression.

And then they both spotted me.

Lai's brow puckered in curiosity and Matt's mouth turned down in disappointment.

I walked to the broken toy, scooped up the parts then carried them to Matt. "Here." I threw a cold glare over my shoulder at Lai before turning back to Matt. "Maybe we can fix it."

Matt smiled weakly at me, even though I could clearly read the mistrust in his eyes. ''Kay."

"Who are you runt?"

I ignored Lai.

"Hey, Blondie, I'm talking to you!"

I curled the side of my mouth into a smirk and turned my head, readying myself to snarl something unpleasant when Matt jumped in to cover my rudeness.

"His name is Mello. He's new. Watari asked me to show him around…"

Lai threw him a haughty look. "You? Condemning him to a future as a social outcast. Labeling him a baby too."

Matt's shoulders flinched. "I'm not a baby."

Lai's eyes gleamed with spite and continued with his taunt as though Matt never uttered his protest. "Still crying for your mommy after every bad dream?"

"Shut up!" Matt whimpered, wiping his sleeve across his nose.

"For every skinned knee. But your mommy won't answer you will she? She's dead! And poor baby Matty is all alon-"

I flew at Lai. I couldn't stop myself. Kicking and punching and clawing any part of his body that I could reach. I managed to land a few good hits before the initial shock of my attack wore off. Then Lai fought back.

A nine year old versus a fourteen year old is as uneven a match as one could imagine and no amount of rage filled fury could even the odds, and soon I was receiving more blows than I was landing.

Just as it became clear that I was unlikely to walk away from this without a good thrashing, a hand reached down and hauled me into the air by the back of my shirt. I twisted to see a man who I didn't recognize holding me and Matt panting behind him.

"There is to be no fighting in this Orphanage." The man rumbled placing me beside Matt "Take him to clean himself up." He said sharply before turning on Lai. "My office, now!"

Blood seeped from my nose and into my cupped hand as Matt took my elbow and guided me from the room. We walked in silence until Matt pulled me to a stop. "Here's the bathroom. You can clean up in here." His voice was oddly drained.

"Thanks." I mumbled around the blood dribbling along my upper lip.

Matt shrugged. "You helped me. I helped you. We're even now right?'

I stared at him in confusion. "I guess."

"Good. I'll see you around then."

When he moved to pass me, I gripped his shoulder with my non-bloodied hand. "Matt, I-"

He shrugged my hand away and walked off leaving me to stand outside the bathroom alone and trying not to drip blood on the carpet as I watched him turn the corner. I guess my friendship comment had upset him.

"Sorry Matt."

_**End Author's Note:**_

_**Yay chapter five for all you loverly people. Poor Matt, seems he has bullying issues as well, but yay for Super Mello stepping up and defending him instead of running. Though Matt is still upset over the whole friendship thing.**_

_**Anyways, smexy reviews please?**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Erm, authors grovel more like. I know I wrote that was gonna update two chapters yesterday but thing's happened. Mainly involving a bottle of wine, drunken phone calls and passing out on my bed. I am sorry but it's been like forever since I drank. lol _

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. Wish I did cos then I'd own Mello. {I loves Mello, even if I thought he was a hermaphrodite when I first saw him.}_

**Chapter: VI**

I stared at my reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. Blood still trekking slowly down my upper lip and dribbling to the corner of my mouth. I narrowed my eyes and leaned closer, almost as though trying to intimidate myself as I yanked the faucet on fully.

I looked ridiculous. Like a child trying to act the man that he wasn't. My reflection glared back, it wasn't buying my act.

Shoulders dropping I sighed and began washing the coppery tasting fluid from my face, ducking my head into my cupped hands and rubbing until the water took on an orange tinge. Lifting my head to the mirror again I checked my teeth, making sure none had been knocked loose. Fighting Lai had been far more difficult than any of the scuffles I'd gotten into at AppleGate, though that was hardly unexpected. The AppleGate children were not intelligent, Wammy's House ones were gifted.

I had had the upper hand previously, my advanced mind over shadowing those of the others. Now the playing field was leveled. I was amongst intellectual equals, now physical stats would mostly decide the outcome.

I wobbled a tooth with my tongue. Thankfully only a baby tooth.

Pulling the plug, I watched the traces of my blood swirl down the plughole, bubbling and gurgling and spiraling down the gutters to join with the other sewage buried beneath the homes and feet of society. Much like my attempts at patching thing's up with Matt.

He wasn't so bad. As far as nerdy little kids go anyway.

As the last dregs of water drained from the white porcelain, I had made up my mind. Whether Matt wanted my help or not, I would help him fix his broken game.

Hurrying from the bathroom, I didn't stop to scan the corridor before jogging out and in result, tripped over an outstretched foot.

A gasp left my throat as my knees hit the floor, palms skidding out so that I knocked my chin against the floor.

A voice sneered from above me as a foot stomped down between my shoulders. "I suppose you think that you're a real hero don't you runt?"

I snarled in defiance and squirmed, only to have the foot grind down harder, hard enough to force a cry of pain that, I desperately tried to smother into the carpet, from my lungs.

"But heroes get hurt. Hero's die all too swiftly and are forgotten by their admirers just as fast."

My vertebrae clicked painfully.

"So 'hero' I don't see Matty anywhere. You already lost your only supporter?"

The foot moved and I rolled, catching sight of my attacker's face.

Lai.

Lai smirked and twisted his fist into my shirtfront and hoisted me to my feet. I strained to reach the floor with the tips of my toes before he lifted me higher. I grabbed his wrists urgently, my face twisting with fear as each frantic kick that sought purchase of the floor and missed.

He shoved his face into mine and I had a terrible, gut-wrenching feeling that he may start head butting me at any moment. Instead he just smirked. "Not so tough when you don't have the jump on me are you?"

Bravado had worked before, maybe it would work now. I took a breath and willed my voice not to tremble and my eye's not to reflect my fear. I forced myself to meet Lai's gaze and narrowed my eyes into a glare.

"I'm still tough. Tougher than you think I am."

Lai snorted a laugh, his breath ruffling my hair. "Is that- FUCK!"

I head butted him first.

Rage sparked in his eyes as he drew back his fist. I clenched my eyes shut and went rigid waiting for the blow.

Then there was a rhythmic thumping echoing through my skull but I felt no pain. Lai grunted and I dropped. My knees buckled beneath me, the impact sending needles of pain racing through my calf muscles. Peeling my lids open, I caught a flash of reddish-brown dancing backwards past me.

I blinked. "Matt?"

Matt grabbed my sleeve and tugged me back a few steps. He wore a serious expression as he watched Lai's movements carefully. Concentration furrowed his brow and his green orbs darted behind his goggles. Then he tilted his head to me and a whisper of a grin touched his lips. "I thought about it, and I still don't believe you."

I frowned, staring at him for a moment. Then comprehension hit. Friendship. He still refused to believe my pessimistic view of it and had returned to try and find me and now he was willing to stand with me.

I couldn't help but skim my lips back in a smile of my own. "That still makes you stupid."

He shrugged. "I know."

The fight was brief and not in our favor. Though we had, between us, managed to pin Lai our success was short lived. Matt's grapple was clumsy and too far back, and with a sharp twist Lai had flung us both aside like rag dolls.

My head hit hard against the corridor wall and everything went dark.

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When the world flickered back into focus, I found myself lying atop of a bed, staring up into endless depths of green. I groaned and rolled over, blinking hard to give my muddled brain a jump start. "Are you okay, Mello? You hit the wall pretty hard"

I pressed my face into the pillow that supported my head and mumbled miserably. "My head hurts." Turning again, I peered up at Matt from under my mussed up hair. "What happened?"

Matt beamed and scrambled up onto the bed beside me. "L happened." He declared. "It was so awesome."

I had no idea what he was talking about so I closed my eyes again, letting his voice fade into wordless noise and then focused on blocking the drone out. A few moments later, I gave up. "Matt?"

"Yes?"

Peeking through my golden lashes I smirked. "Does that mouth of yours come with an off switch?"

Matt grinned and snatched the pillow from under my head, I squawked in protest and he prepared to whump me with the soft weapon.

"I'd prefer if you refrained from beating Mello with that Matt," A voice that I vaguely recognized drifted from my other side. I turned away from Matt and hunted out the owner of the voice and blinking sharply from the sight that greeted me.

The young man who had escorted me to Watari's office after the whole library incident perched on the edge of a swivel chair studying me with those impossibly dark and fathomless eyes. His thumb swept over his lower lip.

L.

Twelfth letter of the alphabet, first ranked secret sleuth in the world and my mentor.

My goal.

Matt gave an exaggerated stage sigh and dropped the pillow beside me.

L slid from the swivel chair across the room like liquid, shuffled across the floor and clambered back onto the bed and resumed his squat.

"You may resume after I have inspected Mello's injuries." L said and gently pulled me into his lap, bending my head forwards and parting the blond strands that covered it. "I can see that you are going to be quite the challenge on poor Roger's nerves. He detests fighting and thus far you have already been involved in two."

I winced. "But, I was protecting Matt."

"I am aware. As admirable your intentions were, I still cannot over-look the fact that you ignored both Watari's and my own advice of the policies involving fighting and disagreements within this institution. There is to be no more fighting. Do you have any objections to my decision?"

I shook my head. But Matt disagreed.

"But it wasn't Mello's fault. Lai was being a dick-"

"That will do, thank you Matt."

"But it's not fair." Matt insisted. "Mello did nothing wrong. He was awesome and brave and-"

I just sat there staring as Matt fought my case. I felt slightly uncomfortable but it was nice that I finally had someone willingly standing on my side. There was no way that the little red head's argument's would alter the fact that, in L's mind, I was little more than a misbehaving child and warranted scolding.

L remained silent throughout Matt's rants and avidly descriptive fight scenes along with his own interpretation of what I assumed to be a blend of kung fu and wrestling pummeling the poor defenseless cushion into submission.

"Perhaps then I should tutor Mello in Capoeira. If he executed a number of those moves that you just demonstrated, then it is hardly a wonder that he received his concussion." I hated how L spoke about me as though I were not currently sitting in his lap. But he continued regardless. "Capoeira requires discipline and thought, as well as flexibility and determination. Though he lacks the discipline it is easily taught. And his bottomless reservoir of energy would also offer a certain edge."

I glanced over to Matt. I couldn't read his expression.

Then he grinned. "You so gotta do it Mello."

I grinned back.

I had never felt a desire to form a bond with anyone in my life before Matt, but after the Lai incident we were inseparable.

_**End Author's Note:**_

_**Yay Matt. He proved Mello's theory wrong. Budding into a friendship now.**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Okay I am officially happy. My tattooist is now watching Death Note also. It's awesome cos now he's more knowledgeable about the style of Death Note and he doesn't have to rely on me being a hard critic on his work. He's a little depressed that they killed L off though and he's met our Mello. _

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note._

**Chapter: VII**

The following October, about a year on from the day since I first walked into Wammy's, with the air crisp and warm and the leaves starting to turn gold and dry, me and Matt had sneaked out of a particularly boring morning schedule in favor of disappearing into a wooded area of the Institutes grounds.

"No way!" Matt said, dropping to sit amongst the gnarled roots of an oak tree. "You aren't using me as a wrestling dummy again."

I scuffed my foot over a mound of stones, knocking them loose and tumbling toward Matt. "It's not wrestling. It's Capoeira." I said. "And besides, you wanted me to teach you what L teaches me."

Matt tugged a clump of grass, complete with a lump of dirt dangling from the roots and sighed. "I know, but last time you almost broke my collarbone."

"Did not."

"Did so. _**And**_ you gave me a black eye. Roger kept bugging me as to how I got it; you know how he hates fighting."

I shrugged and leaned against the oak's trunk. "Roger can bite my ass. L is teaching me and I'm teaching you. Next time I tell you not to move just shut your hole and stay still instead of whining like a bitch."

Matt glared up through his mess of red hair, the green standing bright against the rusty coloured bangs, his goggles hung around his neck, their usual home when not covering his eyes or pushed up into his hair.

I glared back. My company had brought the real Matt out of his shell. The happily anti-social Matt. The 'do-you-blow-the-head-off-that-guy-if-I-hit-this-button' Matt.

My Matt.

He tossed the clump of earth and grass back down and raked dirt encrusted nails through his hair. "Here's an idea then Mell's, _**you**_ stand there as I pull off attacks that look like the illegitimate child of dance and martial arts, and see if you don't flinch."

I smirked. "_**I **_wouldn't."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. You're Mello. Mello, the Amazing. Mello, the Great. Mello, the egotistical basta-"

"All you need is more practice."

Matt snorted, yanked his goggles over his eyes and produced a hand-held games console from his pocket and powered it up. "At what? Getting the crap kicked out of me? I had that down to an art long before I met you."

I reached up and caught a low branch, testing its strength as I hung from it. "L taught me a new move, purely defensive. It forces the attacker to back up and stops you from getting cornered so easily. How about I-"

"Let me guess, you're just dying to try it out on me." Matt grumbled as his nimble thumbs flew over the buttons of his game. "Uh-uh. No way. No more moves that will make Matty bleed."

Rolling my eyes, I pulled myself onto the branch. "It's hardly my fault that you bleed easily."

"If I bleed I won't sneak you chocolate from the pantry anymore."

I stretched for the second branch. "That's a poor threat Matt. I'm blamed for the missing chocolate anyway."

"That's because it usually is you, or L, stealing it and Roger can hardly scold L for it." He sniggered. "You're L's scapegoat."

I broke off a cluster of acorns and tossed them down at Matt's head. "Shut up."

After climbing another foot or so Matt finally glanced up from his game. "Mello?"

"Up here."

He craned his head up to peer through the branches. "How did you get all the way up there?"

"I climbed."

I was only about five feet up but Matt looked so far away. He hastily shoved the console into his pocket, after saving the game of course, and grabbed a branch to follow.

We climbed higher; I had my sights set on a thick branch about twelve feet up. Matt wanted to stop halfway, he was less athletically inclined than I and he struggled. But I egged him on until we were sitting side-by-side on my chosen branch.

The branches were sparse and hardly obscuring our view at all; we were high enough that the whole of The Wammy's House's rolling acreage lay open to us, from the gates at the mouth of the graveled driveway to the wire fencing that caged the wooded glen from us.

Matt kicked his legs gently and his gaze drifted off into the middle distance.

"Mello."

"Hmm?"

"What was it like? At AppleGate, I mean."

I tilted my head to Matt who was inspecting his boots idly.

"Horrible." I said vaguely.

"Oh." He paused, his nose wrinkling in thought. A few minutes passed in silence before he spoke again. "We're you always so tough? I mean, weren't you upset when you became orphaned?" He folded his hands into his lap, looking small and uncomfortable. "When I first came here, I was so screwed up. My mom... I don't remember it clearly, I was asleep, but she took the divorce from dad really badly and wrecked the car. There was so much blood and she just wouldn't get up when I cried."

My stomach clenched into a fist of ice. He had seen his mother die. Sat in a pool of crimson, his hands slicked with her blood as he'd tried to wake her. And he thought I was tough. I had hardly coped when it dawned on me that my mom hand walked out on me.

Matt was the bravest guy I'd ever had the pleasure of knowing, and right up to our dying day, he would always remain the stronger in our pair mentally. The one who I would draw my own strength from in times of dire need.

And it kills me that I never told him that.

Without him, I would be nothing.

"I was terrified. But I had to be tough, AppleGate was torturous. You just be thankful that Watari got to you before the care system did." I said quietly, my gaze focusing on the gate at the mouth of the driveway. "You could have ended up somewhere just as bad."

We sat in silence, Matt leaning against my side, his head on my shoulder as he dug his game from his pocket, looping his arm through mine.

A low rumble vibrated through the air and my head snapped up.

I recognized the engine to be that of Watari's black sedan. Excitement crept up along my spine, L had disappeared over a week ago and wherever L went so did Watari, which meant that L was home now. I nudged Matt suddenly in the ribs and he jerked upright, wobbling dangerously for a moment before grabbing my elbow and regaining his balance.

"Come on, Matt. L's home." I urged.

We started to clamber down, Matt going first. By the time we were less than six feet from the ground I had decided that Matt was climbing too slowly.

"Hurry up!" I urged him. "It's not that high, jump."

Matt's head jerked up. "Are you crazy? I'm like a hundred feet from the ground."

I rolled my eyes. "You're six feet up at most."

"Six feet, a hundred. I'm still not jumping. If you're so desperate to get down, you jump."

So I did.

Taking a moment to assess and calculate my landing and steady the prickling nerves in the back of my head before launching myself out into midair.

Dropping past Matt, my body twisted like a cat, putting my feet beneath me and I mentally thanked the flexibility that I had been graced with. I hit the ground easily and though shock waves jarred through my legs I did not fall.

"That was awesome." Matt called from above me, still inching his way down.

But I ignored his voice and sprinted for the front door of the orphanage.

"H-hey! Mello, wait! Don't leave me here. Mello!"

I ignored him again. I'd come back for Matt. He could wait, my curiosity wouldn't.

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**OOOOOh! I hate filler so very much. Sorry for such a short chapter but I have a surprise in store for the next chapter {though I bet you can all guess what.} as someone is missing from the Wammy's House group…**_

_**Read and review please…**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Well we seem to be powering through this fan fiction quickly, though do not fear as I have now decided to continue this story right up to the two boy's untimely demise. I was unsure previously as to where to end it, hopefully this news is well received by those who are following and enjoying. Thank you to all my reviewers and I hope that some of the alerters and lurkers decide to leave me tasty reviews as well._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. But last night I dreamed that I did._

**Chapter: VIII**

I reached the back of the house and hared through the corridors, skidding into the main hallway a few moments before I heard the keys jangle from the other side. Grabbing the door knob, I flung the door open, and grinned.

Watari stood in the doorway, key heading toward the lock, looking slightly bemused to see me standing there red faced and sweaty.

"Hullo Mello," He stepped further inside the hall, allowing L to cross the threshold also. The reclusive detective peered over the elderly gentleman's shoulder, his dark eyes as impassive and expressionless as ever. He was so hard to read.

"As heart-warming as it is to have you welcoming us home Mello, I believe you should actually be attending your classes at this moment, should you not?"

I held L's sharp gaze for a moment, raking my fingers through my hair and snagging a leaf from my golden strands before a tiny movement caught my attention.

Sandwiched between both Watari and L was a pale and frail looking boy, his under-nourished frame swamped by ill fitting clothing.

His eye's were dark, the same gray colour as L's ringed his too wide pupils, but they were sunken and looked bruised. Dirt matted his light hair and I could smell neglect from where I was standing.

The boy lifted his eyes to mine and my back stiffened. He wore the same shuttered expression that L did. Then he shifted, backing up and trying to bury himself into the space between L's knees, hand going to his hair and twirling a matted bang around his finger.

A nervous trait perhaps.

"Ah. You are curious I see." Watari smiled that grandfatherly smile at me. I lifted my gaze to his and nodded.

"And his curiosity shall have to remain unsatisfied Watari, until the boy is well enough to join the other children." L said, bending to gather the tiny child into his arms and stepped past me, the boy peering curiously at me over L's shoulder. I turned away from Watari and began following L down the corridor.

L pulled up sharply and I almost stumbled into the back of his legs, my focus on the child in L's arms rather than on L himself.

He twisted his upper torso so that he could watch me. "Mello, I have already made my decision, and I do not make it a habit to repeat myself."

"But I-"

"I am not to be disturbed, nor am I to hear of you hounding Watari or Roger for news of my whereabouts. Nor am I to hear of you boycotting anymore of your classes, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, but-" I mumbled.

"And as for your Capoeira lessons. They are postponed for one month."

My head shot up. "But that isn't fair." I howled and stomped my foot childishly.

L raised a dark brow and shifted the small boy higher into his arms. "Is it not? I feel it to be very fair. One Capoeira lesson sacrificed per academic lesson skipped, and another one for each of your tutor's whose time you have wasted. Now, if you still feel that your punishment is unfair then you are free to present your case now."

I shook my head miserably.

L lifted his dark eyes to Watari. "Watari, would you please ensure that Mello attends his afternoon lessons, until then I leave him in your charge."

The elderly gentleman nodded and placed a hand on either of my shoulders. "Very well L."

I craned my head up and peered at his stoic face. I couldn't tell if Watari was angry with me as well. I couldn't bear for him to be disappointed in me. As L shuffled away, Watari tilted his head down and offered me a reassuring smile. "You certainly do seem to seek out mischief don't you?"

"I don't seek it, it stalks me."

He chuckled and ruffled his hand through my hair. "Perhaps. You keep Roger on his toes though," I grinned, I wasn't fond of Roger so that was an accomplishment to be proud of. "And your daily raids of the pantry frustrate the cooks but as I have a theory, 'if a boy isn't making mischief somewhere in the day, then there is something not quite right with him.' You are the living embodiment of my theory."

"L doesn't get up to any mischief." I said, jamming my hands into my pockets. "I doubt he ever has."

Watari chuckled. "Is that what you think? When he was young L was awful. His curiosity and drive to know how thing's worked caused so many incidents in which I doubted the soundness of my mind when I adopted that boy. There are times, even now, that I find myself cringing and feeling concern for his safety. His brand of mischief is just different from yours."

"Then why was he so angry at me?"

Watari's smile faded into a straight, thin line, sadness touched his eyes as he crouched behind me. "Do not blame him. He is sensitive. I do not usually allow him to accompany me when I rescue a child; unfortunately L was the one who discovered the boy this time. And from the moment he saw him, I could read in L's body-language the same emotions and anger that I felt when I rescued my first orphan. This child represents more than just a good deed to him, he identifies with the boy. You see Mello, L has experienced that child's situation and it brought up many painful memories for him. Though he does not know quite how to deal with them yet."

I stared up at Watari. The man's face tightened and I could feel the bond between him and the young man, more than just than just a guardian protecting his ward but more a father guiding a son.

After a moment Watari returned his gaze to me. "Now, if you are here then where is Matt? Wherever you go, that boy is never far behind."

"Outside."

He shook his head, it wasn't the first time I had abandoned Matt somewhere in favor of L. A grin tugged its way onto my lips. "I'll go get him."

"That would be advisable."

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I was surprised that as I left the house I didn't see Matt anywhere, he wasn't jogging through the halls looking for me, nor was he sprawled over a couch somewhere playing one of his number of games. Instead I found him still in the tree, clinging to the trunk so tightly that he looked almost like some kind of tumor.

It appeared that when I had abandoned him so had his courage.

His head came up as he spotted me.

"You jerk! You ditched me… _**again**_!"

"I thought you were right behind me." I protested, not bothering to hide my grin.

"You jumped! I'm not crazy. I'm not jumping."

"It's okay, you don't have to. I'll guide you down."

It took almost a half hour to finally coax Matt back down and instead of thanking me, the ungrateful sod punched me. Not seriously, but still, he punched me.

"Quit doing that to me! It wasn't funny the first time and it sure as hell, aint funny now."

I laughed at him and, as he swung to hit me again, grabbed his wrist, pulling him close enough that I could trap him in a head-lock. Any frustration that I had accumulated inside was forgotten as we scuffled.

Matt went tumbling down, dragging me after him. We wrestled briefly until I sat, smug and victorious, on top of his stomach and he wriggled indignantly beneath me.

"Alright already, you win. Uncle or whatever, just get your butt off of me."

He gave me a shove and I allowed myself to slither from my perch and thumped beside him instead. Matt pushed his goggles up into his hair, allowing him to peer at me without obstruction. "So why did you ditch me this time?"

I shrugged; poking him in the ribs and watching him jolt. "L."

He swiped at my hand lazily, his other arm thrown over his eyes. "Yes I know L came home and you just had to rush off and see him, lest he suddenly grow a beard in the week that you haven't seen him. But surely that could have waited until dinner."

"He brought a new kid home."

That got his attention. Matt propped himself up onto his elbows. "Seriously?"

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously, Matt. Would I lie to you?"

"You have done. Several times."

"Not about important things, I haven't."

"You forgot my birthday, changed every calendar in the orphanage and managed to convince me that I was a day early, that's pretty damn important."

I laughed. "I still can't believe that you bought it."

Matt glared. "I'm glad you think it's funny. I really thought that I was going crazy."

"I made up for it though didn't I?" I said and draped myself over him, resting my chin on his belly. "And you still love me."

He cocked his brow at me then laughed. "You look so gay like that."

"I'm only gay for you though."

"That's just creepy."

"I know, I've been practicing."

We often joked like this. Teasing each other with good natured jibes.

"So, this new kid." Matt asked. "Girl or boy?"

"Boy."

"Kid or teen?"

"Kid."

Matt nodded and we lay in silence for a while, just enjoying each others company. I didn't handle change well and Matt always helped ground my anxiety whether he knew about it or not. Laying here together like this was good. Normal. Our little world taking small bumps like Roger, punishments and new kids in its stride and nothing drastically changing.

I was contented.

But reality was about to wake me from my reverie. It would slam a comet hard enough into our little world to send it spiraling out of control and off into the stratosphere.

A comet named Near.

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**Oh dear. Near has arrived. That was so different from my draft it's untrue. But I couldn't have L seeming too much like a jerk and the whole Matt/Mello bit at the end {from the 'would I lie to you' bit} wasn't even an initial idea but it just flowed. Those two boys interact so well together. **_

_**Anyhow hope you enjoyed it. Am working the night shift tonight so thought I'd get this up for you to enjoy while I'm bored at work, and in hopes that there will be lots of tasty reviews for me to enjoy when I get home. **_

_**Hint hint…**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Unfortunately we are coming to an end with the almost daily updates on this fic as I'm reaching an end of what I have already roughed out. And as I'm working six days next week I might have to cut back the uploads to one maybe two a week. Paying rent sucks but it's a necessary evil and in order for me to even use the net I must work, growing up sucks._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. I'm sure that the characters are all relieved. Lego's are also not owned by me and hence shall be known as click-bricks._

**Chapter: IX**

It seems that I have offended the Fates once again. I wish I knew how. Did they just detest me? They must do, because yet again I found my day taking a turn toward the chaotic and catastrophic.

It had been almost two weeks since Near had arrived and he had spent his time either holed up in his room or when he did venture from his dark sanctuary, he did so only when attached to L or Watari's side like some kind of parasitic lamprey. His wide gray eyes darting here and there as he clung to either man's pant-leg, almost seeming nervous to the point of paranoia, though if you looked hard enough you could just notice his pupils dilate fractionally or his mouth twitch as he committed each and every detail to memory.

Not that I was jealous or anything, but the kid just set my teeth on edge and a burning itch under my skin, like insects crawling and biting at my nerve-endings. He just seemed so… in-human.

I learned this the first time that we actually spoke, the day that I almost trampled him.

He lay sprawled on his side in the middle of the main hallway surrounded by a click-brick moat, swooping some kind of toy robot through the air, whether to some elaborate fantasy playing out in his mind or a simple thoughtless action I shall never know, his focus trained completely on the toy.

I sprinted through the orphanage; my arms full of snacks and sodas, the spoils of today's pantry heist, with Matt hard on my heels and struggling with his own stolen bounty. I hadn't seen Near laying as a human obstacle until my foot powered toward his form. In desperation I threw my leg out further, just clearing his body but the action over balanced my run and resulted in my foot coming down hard and heavy.

Unfortunately for me it came down squarely atop of a renegade click-brick.

I howled and crumpled, crashing down beside Near and drawing his attention from his toys as my other foot clipped his shoulder as I fell. Chocolate bars scattering, soda bottles rolling from my fingers and potato chips erupting in cloud of sour cream flavoring.

"Goddamn!" I hissed shoving myself to a sitting position and pulling my foot toward me, inspecting the damage. "That really hurt."

Near drew his legs under him, rolling upright and tucking a knee under his chin as he surveyed the mess of potato chips burst from the bag and brightly coloured plastic blocks littering the carpet.

As I attempted to salvage the remaining chips and what little dignity I had left, Matt stumbled to a stop behind me.

"Well, there go your movie snacks." He laughed.

I scowled up at my friend, my mouth twitching as I readied myself to hurl verbal abuse at him, when I realized Near was peering at my foot, his chin resting on his hands and rear in the air, like a puppy ready to play. I hadn't even seen him move. Then he reached out a thin arm, the cuff of his sleeve reaching his knuckles and poked at the bruise darkening on the bottom of my foot, curiosity evident in his wide dark eyes.

I bit off a growl of pain but not before the first notes escaped my lips.

Near's fingers began to move, not just inspecting the bruise but exploring my leg from toes to knee. Feeling the differences in texture and temperature, from the slightly calloused toe pads, to the cold, artificial almost plastic smoothness offered by the sole of my foot and, finally to the silken warmth of my calf.

I lifted my gaze to Near and stared, confusion clouding my eyes and fogging my brain.

"Geez. Get up already Mello." The ever considerate Matt huffed, nudging me with his foot. "You're not even hurt that badly are you?"

I shrugged and lowered my gaze back to Near, who's eyes were still misted with curiosity. Then I felt Matt snatch my pant leg from Near's gentle touch and yank my foot over my head.

I shrieked and cringed at the ridiculously effeminate sound, clinging desperately to my pants waistband in fear that Matt's rough treatment might tug them from my slender hips. Near, obviously not one for horse-play, scuttled backwards and safely out of our way; knee drawn to his chest and still clutching his robot in one hand as the other twirled his white curls.

"Hmph! A bruise. No blood, no broken bones sticking through your skin? How disappointing. I was hoping to see something gross." Matt dropped my leg back down and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

I rolled my eyes. I think someone has been playing too many FPS games over the last week. "I'm sorry that I'm not horribly mutilated Matt. I stepped on a click-brick not a land mine." I grumped, arching onto my shoulders and heels as I hoisted my pants back up to their rightful place on my hips before standing. Brushing crushed chips from my clothes and bending to gather my remaining treats into my arms I caught sight of Near studying me once again, his hand still curling in the depths of the snowy strands.

I frowned at him, a prickle of unease creeping along my neck and sending the fine blond hairs bolting upright.

Why was he staring like that? It was too familiar a look for a child who I'd only seen once or twice in passing. It was too like L.

Then the faintest shadow of a crease puckered at his brow as he picked up a plastic brick between thumb and forefinger. There was probably nothing to justify the sudden surge of annoyance at that subtle gesture but to me, it seemed like annoyance and my hackles rose.

It wasn't my fault that I had spoiled his game,_** he**_ had been the one to sprawl himself across the floor. Scattering his toys and ambushing any poor kid who happened to not look where he was going.

Picking up a chip from the floor, I flipped it at the boy. "Don't you know you should keep your toys in the play room or your own room for that matter? Especially if you intend to spread it all out like this."

Near watched with what could only be a 'bored interest' muddying his gray gaze as the chip hit his shirt then bounce to the floor again, leaving a smear of powdered flavor staining his shoulder. Slowly, those shuttered eyes slipped up to mine, his nose wrinkling slightly as the scent of the chip assaulted his nostrils.

"It is customary for one to introduce oneself before proceeding to destroy another's work."

I blinked.

His voice was almost as hollow as his gaze, though deeper than I had anticipated. I suppressed a shudder.

"Whoa. Those are some pretty impressive words for a seven year old." Matt said, crouching to peer at the boy.

Near hardly even spared Matt a glance, though he did reply rather haughtily. "Your assumptions are poor. I am approaching ten." His eyes clamped onto mine again as he continued. "And my vocabulary is hardly impressive enough to warrant such surprise."

Matt blinked from behind his goggles. "Eh!?" He shot me a raised brow and I shrugged.

"Perhaps you should take a little more care before blurting your observations." Near said, as he scooped the click-bricks toward him. "I find that it decreases the possibility of errors."

Matt shrugged but I glowered. Snooty little brat, talking to Matt as though he were dense. Matt might not care but I did.

'Oh yeah," I sneered. "And what exactly have you deduced about us after all of five minutes then Sherlock?"

Near tilted his head toward me. "Your friend holds little interest for me. You, however, I believe you are older. Perhaps bordering on puberty. You hostility and attitude suggests you are the dominant in your pair, though you seem uncomfortable in filling that role. Rebellious though I highly doubt you'd slip into hooliganism. And, judging by your physical build, you are athletic."

My cheeks burned. Smarmy, snooty little brat.

Matt laughed. "He's good."

I whirled on my friend. "No!" I shouted. "No he's not. He got lucky, that's all. It's hardly likely that I'm going to be the submissive one of us is it? And he groped me! That's how he knows that I play sports."

I turned on Near who's attention now wandered to his toys and had begun clicking the bricks together. "You're a freak! A freaky little kid, spying on people and neatly colour coding us in your head like toys in a toy box or a completed puzzle."

My chest was heaving as my rant ended and Matt placed a hand on my shoulder. "Calm down Mell's. He's just a kid. There's no need to flip out like this."

I pegged Matt with a glare. He was right of course but I wouldn't admit it. To admit a mistake is to expose weakness and I would not be viewed as weak. Inferior.

"I am not flipping out-"

"It is hardly spying when the subject makes no attempt to remain inconspicuous." Near interrupted. "If you had not been tearing throughout the house, and perhaps detained your curiosity upon our first meeting, maybe we would both be free of our preconceptions of one another."

Already his tower reached his chest. "As it stands, however, you are adamant that I am out of the ordinary in an orphanage filled with exceptional children and it un-nerves you that perhaps you are not as exceptional as you first thought."

A very animalistic snarl clawed from my throat as I towered over the compact little boy. I had worked so hard to push past my insecurities. To bury my fears and finally allow my hopes to take flight, and this child had just declared hunting season open on me and pulled a .22 caliber, took aim and blown them from the sky.

I wanted to kick him. Hit him. Make him sorry.

I could feel the irritating sting of tears gathering behind my eyes but I wouldn't let them fall. No-one was allowed to see them. Not Watari. Not L. And not even Matt.

The red-head touched my shoulder as I wheezed.

"Mello? Are you-?"

What frustrated me most was that I was hiding my tears from someone who had no interest in seeing them.

"What, and you think that you're so damned special?" I snarled.

Near didn't even glance up, he just continued clicking those stupid little bricks together in a rhythmic pace.

_**Click… click… click…**_

"You think just because you know a few fancy words, string together a more impressive sentence. Because you observe rather than act, that makes you better than me?

Silence punctuated by _**click… click… click…**_

My check began twitching in time with the sound.

_**Click… click… CRACK!**_

I swung my foot at the tower. Not one of my better ideas, I decided as pain licked along my leg, followed swiftly by a numbing stinging sensation as the multi-coloured bricks rained down around Near who appeared momentarily stunned.

Despite the pain, I felt faintly satisfied at the destruction I had caused.

Turning on my heel, albeit somewhat stiffly, I stooped and gathered my remaining treats, and strode away.

As I passed Matt, the gamer caught my eye and hesitated for a moment, glancing down at Near as the pale boy simply began on a new structure, acting as though I hadn't just brutally put my foot through his previous design, before jogging after me.

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**Longest chapter so far and I had to cut it in half. I have a new reader who is a personal favorite author of mine, Raven Ehtar, I am currently squirming like the squealing fangirl that I am. I am working on plotting the next few chapters as I would like to maintain some sort of regularity with this fic as it has been so well received. **_Zchocolatebunniesrulezworld _**as you are a Mello/Near fan I suggest you read Raven's works as you will adore them, (Raven is starting to open my mind to a possible Mello/Near fic for the future.) Anyway enough gushing. Oh and chocolatebunnies I actually have two Mello's, two Near's, L, Misa, Light and Ryuk in my tattoo already with Rem, Gelous, Sidoh, Matt and another L currently being sketched to join the others soon.**_

_**Anyway R&R please peoples.**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

_**Authors Note:**_

_Graaaaaah! I hate the public! I came so close to having a full blown fight with some guy. So I've come home from work, gone straight to the fridge and bitten into a bar of chocolate. I've never known a snap to be so satisfying, Mello was onto something there._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note._

**Chapter: X**

"That wasn't very nice Mell's." Matt said as he quick-stepped to match my pace. "He's just a kid. You know just how hard it is to fit in somewhere new, so why are you giving him such a hard time."

I shouldered the door to our dorm open. Though I was grateful that Matt had waited until we were out of that brats hearing before he decided to challenge me, it still irked me somewhat that he was even showing the slightest bit of sympathy toward Near at all.

"Life doesn't pull its punches Matt, and neither do I. He's been here two weeks and already he's looking down his nose at us." I growled. Tossing down my stolen bounty, the split bag of chips belching out its contents all over my comforter.

Matt followed suit, laying his snacks out neatly before throwing himself onto the mattress, obliterating his earlier care, and scrambling up to the pillow end where he grabbed his games console and a new cartridge. He shrugged as he fired up the toy. "Does it really matter? So he was testing the boundaries a little, seeing how far he could push us before we began pushing back. He's younger than we are and that's what little kids do."

I narrowed my eyes over my shoulder at Matt. He was so much smarter than his attitude reflected, the lazy couldn't-give-a-rats-ass persona that he projected acted almost as a defense mechanism, hiding his intelligence so that he could be easily over-looked and he could continue coasting through life. "So there was no need for you to get all pissy and smash up his architect-"

My eyes slitted and my mouth turned down. And sometimes his smart-mouth took over and ruined it all.

"Ask me if I care, Matt! Go on. Ask me!" I snarled.

His head jerked up and his thumbs stilled over the console. I expected his eyes to have widened in surprise at my sudden outburst; instead they simply watched me for a moment before lowering back to the game. "Not right now, I won't. You're angry and likely to say something that you don't mean."

The muscles in my jaw clenched and I struggled to pull back my temper. "Of course I'm angry." I took a slow, deliberate step closer. I needed a reaction to work with. "He's just like the rest. Like the other's in my old orphanage. Like Jamie. Like Lai. Sneaky, sneering boys looking down on me like I'm not worth the dirt beneath their shoes." My voice had lowered to a soft tone, though I wasn't so sure if it were due to my anger or the sudden prickle of tears burning in the corners of my eyes. I blinked furiously. "Here it was supposed to be different. Here it was supposed to be better. People were meant to understand. But they don't. It's not different and it's not fair."

Matt had lifted his head again as the words tumbled out, spilling and flowing and I could do nothing to stop them. My chest heaved as the occasional hiccup escaped my throat, the result of me battling both my rising temper and dissolving tears.

Something had to give out soon.

My tears won out. A single stubborn drop had escaped my lashes and rolled down my cheek, a scout before the army marched forth.

Punching my heels of my palms into my eyes, I sobbed. Properly sobbed. Complete with running nose and those pathetic little sniveling sounds.

Thankfully my emotional out burst only lasted around two minutes, though when I pulled my hands from my face I was greeted by Matt's bewildered expression as he held what looked suspiciously like a used tissue out to me.

Ignoring the rag, I swiped my sleeve under my nose and across my eyes. Gasping slightly, I squeezed my lids shut again only peering up through red rimmed eyes when I felt an awkward squeeze on my shoulder.

"Isn't being here even a little better than AppleGate?" Matt asked softly.

I caught the tail-end of an emotion diving into the depths of those glittering emeralds, but it was too quick, hiding behind the distracting green and waiting until I gave up the chase. It didn't have to wait long.

"I don't know," I mumbled into the crook of my arm. "Parts are."

Matt's gaze dipped and he pushed back to sit on his toes. He looked anxious now. Fiddling with the bottom of his red and black striped shirt, the sleeves, before moving to his goggle strap around his neck, then finally his hand went into his hair. I watched him scratch at his scalp before taking a small section between his thumb and index and gently tugging.

The curling motion that his hand made and the twisting of his reddish-brown locks reminded me instantly of Near.

I scowled. "Quit that!"

He jerked upright and stiffened briefly, eyes widening before his head bowed to his feet. With his gaze diverted from me I couldn't read his expression, couldn't tell what he was thinking.

I should have left our fight there. If I hadn't continued to push right then, we would have both sulked for an hour or two, engrossed ourselves in different activities until Matt decided that he wanted to play a two player game and thrust a game pad into my hands without a word. A knowing grin spreading on his lips.

But I was frustrated, my pride wounded. And being thrown head-first into puberty only acted as gasoline, fueling every glitch and magnifying them into disasters.

"I still don't get why you had to kick down his tower though." Matt said quietly.

"You don't understand anything!" I snarled grabbing him about the biceps and pushing my face into his. "You're too wrapped up in your stupid games to even try. You live in a fantasy world; well you need to grow up. Because, pretty soon, life will decide to bitch-slap you and force you to take notice of what's happening outside of your bubble. I have told you over and over, life isn't easy. It isn't kind to anyone. And the fates are the bastards who kick you when you're down."

After a moment of studying Matt's wide eyes and slightly shaken face, I shoved him away with a low growl. He landed on his back still staring up at me. A harsh lesson but it was one that was long overdue.

Matt wordlessly rolled over, presenting me with his back in what I assumed to be a huff, and then I saw him lean over and reach under his bed, reappearing with a duffel bag in his grasp.

I tilted my head, confused as he un-zipped it and thrust his snacks inside, following them with his games console and a pack of batteries. When he shoved a sweatshirt in as well I became suspicious.

"Matt?"

He ignored me and zipped up the bag.

"Matt." I tried again.

Swinging the bag onto his shoulder and yanked his goggles over his eyes he slid from the mattress. Only then did his eyes slip to my face briefly.

"Where are you going?"

He tightened his jaw, refusing to answer me but his eyes betrayed him. They darted to the door then back to me. I smirked and his lips pursed. I could almost hear the wheels of his mind turning as he weighed up the chances of out running me.

"There's only one chance Matty, and that's no chance."

His eyes danced between me and the door, I took a step forward. "So, what's with the bag?"

His gaze settled on my shirt, watching me but unwilling to make eye contact. When I was close enough, I made a snatch at his bag but he turned, dodging my fingers.

Damn his love of video games, his reflexes were sharp.

His dodge forced him to retreat into the enclave between his bed and his drawers, and his eyes snapped to mine, a scowl furrowing his brow.

I blinked once. He had never scowled at me like that before, but I refused to back down. I scowled back. "What are you doing? Running away? An orphan running away from an orphanage. That's pretty lam-"

"Who said I'm running anywhere? And didn't you run away from AppleGate?" He snapped his voice edged with hurt.

I flinched. Low blow Matty. "Then what's with the bag?"

He shrugged. "I'm going outside for a few hours. Give you time to cool down."

I glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the table beside my bed. 9pm.

"But it's after curfew. You'll get in to trouble if Roger catches you."

"So I won't let Roger see me."

He made a wild dip and moved to slip around me and I moved to block him, only to realize that the move was a fake out. He vaulted onto his bed, mattress springs groaning as he trampled them, and was at the window before I had issued the command to move.

I grinned. He was trapped.

Dormitories were on the second floor and he wasn't stupid enough to jump.

But as I watched him scramble onto the widow-sill and lean out, my stomach flipped.

Jumping hadn't entered his mind.

The apple tree.

His hand caught a branch and he swung out. How could I have been so stupid to forget about the tree? It tapped against the window during every storm.

Before I had even reached the window Matt was half way down. Sure, now he could climb. I snatched at the closest branch and hauled myself out; he was nearing the bottom so I had to hurry.

And that was when I made my mistake. The branch that I had grabbed for balance was too thin and old, it cracked in my hand and I pitched forwards.

As I fell I panicked.

This was higher than my previous jump and this wasn't calculated. I couldn't control the fall, but still my brain barked orders. I twisted. My feet leading the way as I hit the earth. The jolt ricocheted through my body and hurled me backwards, my head hitting the ground so hard that I blacked out. Only for a moment though because then, the blinding agony that followed, brought me round.

I was hurt.

Badly.

As the first cry of pain left my throat I felt someone drop beside me.

"Oh God Mello. Are you okay?" Matt pulled me to sit up. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think that you'd fall."

The pain and motion made me nauseous; I leaned forward and vomited bile between my knees. I won't say that I toughed it out, I was eleven; I had fallen from a second story window, so I cried.

Matt looked almost on the verge of tears himself, panic lined his face and creased his forehead and that just made me cry harder.

I wasn't in control, he wasn't in control and that terrified me. My knee throbbed horribly, each pulse of pain stabbed behind my eyes, adding to my misery and tears.

In a few minutes, Roger would come outside and do the rounds, making sure that none of the children had slipped outside; all we had to do was wait.

I shivered. Despite the late summer's heat during the day, evening's cooled considerably and as it was approaching darkness the temperature dropped further. Though the cold wasn't the only reason that I shivered, shock was setting in. My teeth chattered and I trembled visibly.

Matt must have noticed because he shuffled closer, trying to stifle out my convulsions with his own body heat. My lids flickered, I was exhausted from the crying and the pain was only helping in making me feel drowsy…

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**Long chapter again. I had to split my typing over two days because after Friday at work I just wasn't in the mood to type and now it's Saturday and with another lousy day tucked under my belt I decided that I had to post this. And yes, I have left you on a sort of cliff-hanger.  
**_

_**On a lighter note however, I have decided that either next year or the year after I would like to attend a decent anime convention and as the UK is fairly poor for supplying a good convention I shall be traveling to the USA to attend one. (I would love a photo of Living in a Fantasy and her friends cos-playing as Mello, Matt and L.)**_

_**Thank you to all who are loyally following this and reviewing. Your support and feedback means more to me than you could ever know.**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Authors Note:**_

_Okay, I'm having so much fun with this story now. I'm feeling more comfortable writing this now as technically this is my first Death Note fic and I was very self-conscious about playing around with such well loved characters and not having my face ripped off. Lol. It's obtaining the interest of many skilled writers and they are leaving such wonderful reviews and boosting my very low self esteem._

_For those who do wonder a little about me personal life, well, I kinda had an accident at work yesterday and jarred my spine. I will still be working as I need the money, rent needs paying and the computer needs my landlady's internet connection. I am trying to reply to all reviews but as I work A LOT (approx 60 hrs a week) and this story has consumed all my spare time, please do not feel too angry with me. You're all filled with super special awesomeness._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. I just molest it on a regular basis._

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter. XI**

I struggled for hours to regain consciousness, pulling myself close enough to the surface to know that something was wrong, but not quite close enough to push that last three inches and drag myself free. Fuzzy snatches of awareness plaguing the darkness of my mind.

Once I felt as though I were floating, my shoulders and knee's supported and my cheek resting on something warm with a faint fluttering sensation near my lashes. Then I heard muffled voices, the words slurring as though my ears were full of water, unable to distinguish words but able to recognize noise.

The third time a scent assaulted my nose and flooded my mind. Disinfectant mixed with the distinct aroma of sickness and disease. It took a while, but my brain finally shuffled all the pieces of the puzzle together in an intelligible scenario. A hospital?

My lids snapped open, only to allow a harsh white light to burn my retinas before I quickly slammed them shut again.

A few moments passed and the rainbows in my eyes receded back into black. Digging my elbows into the bed, I propped my torso up and shifted my hips. Pain raced along my leg, and sizzled right up to my armpit on the right-side. I gasped, doubled over and collapsed back onto the mattress, my hand going to my forehead hoping that the touch would still my swimming focus. Instead nausea raced up my throat from my gut and, as much as I fought it, the contents of my stomach splattered onto the floor.

"That's pleasant."

I turned my head, one eye buried in the pillow while the other searched for the owner of the voice. A voice that I recognized.

A familiar round face topped with a mass of red-brown tangles greeted me from the not-vomited-on side. Matt looked exhausted, misery and worry circled his green eyes.

He reached his hand out and brushed my fingertips gently, making them twitch in response. "How are you feeling?"

I screwed up my eyes and drew a long breath through my nose. "Confused. And I hurt." I blinked at him, then groaned as my mind picked up the processing pace and sloughed off the cloud of confusion. Everything came rushing back, brutally assaulting my slow working mind and demanding to be remembered first.

The fight, the fall, the pain.

I glanced down at my leg and discovered that it was plastered from heel to mid-thigh. The once white cast was covered in apologetic scrawls in Matt's sloppy scribbles, punctuated with the occasional childish drawing.

I smiled weakly at him. I had never understood the tradition of writing on someone's cast. Hadn't deemed it as important. But to see that Matt had taken such time to decorate the dull white well, regardless of its importance and lack of healing properties, I was glad that had. I hooked my fingers around his and gave them a gentle squeeze.

After a few quiet minutes I ventured a question. "What time is it?"

Matt checked his wrist. I smirked, Matt never wore a watch, I'd gotten him one for his birthday last year and he never wore it. Only a cheap kiddies watch, but it had a Pokemon on it and I had thought he would love it simply for that reason alone. He liked it well enough; he just didn't like to wear it.

He shrugged and glanced back to me. "A little after one I think."

No wonder he was exhausted.

"Thank you. For staying with me." I mumbled quietly.

A soft dusting of pink settled on Matt's cheeks and a small smile curved his lips momentarily before the door to my room opened and a woman in a white coat and a clipboard tucked under her arm swept inside, followed by Watari and… L?

L rarely ever left the grounds of the Institute unless he was called away on a case. A wise man does not reveal his face to his enemies…

I swallowed, this must be serious.

"You are a very lucky young man."

My attention was dragged away from the recluse detective's features and fixed firmly onto those of the woman, my doctor I realized. Eyes dancing to hers briefly, taking in her far too average looking face; complete with pulled back brown curls and glasses, and then back to L who stood in his usual slump, thumbnail caught between his teeth.

"Your guardians have informed me that you two little rascals were playing a little too roughly and you took a tumble." She moved and blocked my view of L and Watari. I leaned to peer around her but her hand caught my chin in a firm but gentle grip and tilted my head up to her. "Now hold still a moment for me, angel."

I bit back an annoyed snarl but obeyed.

"You have sustained a fracture to the patella. Do you know what that means?" She continued as she fished a small pen light from the inside pocket of her coat and advanced on me.

My muscles locked and I stiffened slightly. "It means that I have broken my knee." I muttered, trying not to even look up and her. My knowledge seemed to impress the doctor and she ruffled my hair affectionately, like I was five years old.

"My, what a bright boy you are." She said softly and reached her hand to my face.

It took all my will-power not to recoil as she gently forced my lids to part wider than they were used to and swung her little light into my eye.

I still held onto Matt's fingers and when the light assaulted my vision and I squeezed instinctively, making him gasp.

I tried to glare through this indignity but if she saw it she ignored it, and simply repeated the procedure on my other eye and left the first to water thus eradicating any trace of my furious scowl.

When she finished, she turned away to write something on her clipboard. I scrubbed at the irritation burning behind my eyes, clearing my vision of the watery rainbows that had sprung back from hiding earlier; dancing and making me feel dizzy.

Matt let go of my fingers and pushed himself onto tiptoes, trying to peer over the woman's arm and glimpse her notes. He reached a hand out to force her elbow down…

"What is your diagnosis Doctor?" Watari asked, moving to join the woman at the foot of my bed and gently laying a hand on Matt's head, preventing him from getting under her feet as she moved.

"Aside from the fracture, he's suffering from a concussion, his vomiting has proven that much. He is very fortunate it isn't more serious."

"Does that mean that he can come home now?" Matt asked, reaching up to push Watari's restrictive hand from his head. It slipped from his hair and onto his shoulder, tightening fractionally and indicating that it would not be removed.

The doctor stooped and ruffled his hair, a sad looking smile touching her eyes. "I'm afraid not, sweetheart. Due to his concussion, I'd like to keep him in under observation for twenty-four hours just to make sure that he does not take a turn for the worse."

Devastation marred his features. "Then, I can stay with him, right? Mello doesn't like strange places and I don't want him to be on his own."

Her hazel eyes closed as she shook her head wordlessly and stood.

Horrified, Matt threw Watari a desperate look. "Please Watari, we can't leave Mello behind."

Watari offered the boy his grandfatherly smile and then he turned to L, who stood behind the gentleman after following him like a puppy its master's heels, thumb absently pulling his lower lip down, apparently deep in thought. It seemed that most decisions regarding his young wards fell to him to make, a responsibility that I doubt he felt particularly comfortable with, one that he'd only recently required.

Sure, Watari and Roger ensured that all the children in their charge were cared for correctly but, for the few hand-chosen heirs to L, their welfare was monitored by the man himself.

He leaned over and, much to mine and my doctor's horror, gently pulled my lower eyelids down.

"Um, excuse me…" The woman started.

L ignored her, his hand moving to my chin, tilting my head up and rolling it around, checking for any sudden nausea or dizziness to drain the colour from my cheeks. **"**This concussion. How serious is it? Is there any indication that it may develop into anything more worrying than a simple migraine?"

"There is no internal bleeding if that is what you are asking." The woman said haughtily, pressing her spectacles higher up the bridge of her nose.

L nodded, as though she were simply confirming what he had deduced himself. **"**Then I'd like for him to return home tonight."

The doctor blanched. "I'd rather keep him in under observations." She stiffened as L's cavernous eyes latched onto hers, his brow puckering slightly. "You must understand my obligations to ensure the well-being of my patients."

L shuffled closer. Whether he was aware of personal boundaries or whether he simply ignored them, I can not say. He leaned so close to the woman's face that his breath stirred her bangs. He wasn't used to his decision's being challenged. "I do understand your professional obligations, doctor. In fact I applaud them. However, I too have obligations to these boys. Mello has suffered quite enough stress for one day, and if there are no signs of further complications I'd rather he recuperate in a familiar setting. And I'd rather not return home with one boy in such distress over leaving his friend behind and reintroducing him to other children where the distress would likely be magnified."

The doctors resolve was wavering. "But should he take a turn for the worse…"

"I will be sure to rush him straight back here. But I have found that children are quite remarkable and resilient creatures."

The next few minutes of silence seemed to stretch on forever but finally she nodded. "Very well." She grumbled. "Against my better judgment, I shall discharge the boy into your care with the understanding that should his condition deteriorate, he is to be readmitted immediately."

I was going home. L was not prepared to have me out of the Institute for longer than absolutely necessary. As L and the doctor discussed the details of my discharge, Matt slipped away from under Watari's fingers and scampered over to me. Relief was evident in his wide eyes. "That's so cool. You get to come home."

Watari's own face had lost its tight anxiety. He obviously had as much desire to leave one of his children alone in the hospital as L. "I must admit it is a relief to hear. And I'm sure the other children will be thrilled to have you home."

I grinned at Watari before turning a mischievous look on Matt. "Yeah…" I raised a brow, hoping that he'd catch the underlying meaning to my look.

He did and grinned back. "Especially Near."

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**Whoo. Had no idea how to play this chapter, and yes I know it's a shortie. I got sent home from work today because of my back injury (yay, score one for pity) and so I decided to get this up for you guys to enjoy. Tis just a little filler to help lead into a large time skip that shall appear in either the end of the next chapter or in chapter thirteen. I am currently planning the second chapter of 'Unadulterated Leap' a Near/Mello (sorry living in a fantasy) fic that I am attempting. I'm by no means an avid Mello/Near fan, I simply like to broaden my horizons and, as it is all Raven Ehtar's fault that I am even writing it (damn you woman and your sexy, sexy writing style and corruption of my anti-Near campaign) I have roped her into beta-ing it for me. Aha, yes you are beta to my story. And finally, thank you all for reading this with me thus far and for all who have taken the time to review, hopefully you are all in this with me for the long haul. **_

_**Review's are lovely and keep me going….**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Authors Note:**_

_Um yeah, not really much to say right this moment except I have replenished my chocolate supply in the fridge as the other night I was struck down by a severe case of chocolate cravings (loosely translated to; I was injured -as mentioned in a previous author's note- and feeling sorry for myself.) Still in moderate pain, but my super-duper strong elephant tranquillizers are doing wonders for that though they make me very sleepy. Big thank you's go out to __**Raven Ehtar, **__**Living in a Fantasy**__ and __**Crimson Featherz**__ for your concern for my spinal injury, I'm doing a lot better thank you … Ummmm, next chappy…_

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. I just molest it on a regular basis. I don't own Bambi or Thumper, the cold-hearted bastards at Disney do. (I'm not a massive fan of Disney, lol)_

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter. XII**

Sunlight filtered in through the open windows of the orphanage, warming the corridors and classrooms and recreation rooms with gentle fingers of gold. Childrens voices, the occasional thump of a foot on artificial leather, and squeals from a trio of girls who had just fallen victim to older boys and their water balloons were carried to my ears on a gentle breeze.

And I was stuck indoors. Doctors orders.

For a whole week I had been forbidden from leaving my makeshift dorm on the ground floor, spending it sprawled along the squashy futon, my leg propped and immobilized. Now I had been given the okay to move around a little, provided I obeyed instruction and used my crutches. I grumbled at this, it smacked too much of weakness, but I had to move, my body craved it.

I could hear a group of boys shouting outside, calling to team-mates as they tore around the grounds, completely absorbed in their football tournament and ignoring the indignant cries of smaller children diving out of the way to save themselves from being trampled. A barely audible sound of pining bubbled from my throat. I wanted to play. To run and to tackle and to jump higher than the other boy and head the ball into the top left corner of the net, I wanted to do it all.

But I couldn't.

Hauling myself up onto my feet and bracing my weight upon the crutches, I hobbled from the room, feeling as unstable as Bambi when he'd first stepped on to the iced over pond during his first winter. Only I didn't have a Thumper to help me. No, Matt had been dragged outside to play football with the other boys, leaving me to struggle by myself.

I moved slowly toward the main hallway of the Institute. If I couldn't play then I could at least offer Matt some support by showing my face and cheering him on from the sidelines, he was more than likely feeling traumatized by being so brutally torn from his video games and dark room in favor of being dragged out into the fresh air and sunlight.

As I inched my way toward the rear of the house, to the door's closest to where Matt would be playing, I began to realize just how difficult moving around on my own was. Maybe I should've waited an extra day of two before deciding to hobble about. Sweat beaded on my forehead and I paused, leaning against the wall and swiping the back of my hand over my face with a soft snarl. This was so hard.

Just as I prepared to push on again a small hand appeared, fingers curling around a door-jamb just ahead of me. A head and a pair or shoulders followed, until Near had completely emerged from the room as silent as the phantasm that his starched white physique could be likened to.

I glared as those over-sized gray orbs slipped over my hunched shoulders, up along my neck and held my gaze. His hand slipped from the door jamb and buried itself into his thick pelt of white curls. Then he dropped his gaze to my leg.

"Would you appreciate some assistance Mello? You appear to be experiencing difficulties."

I skimmed my lips back from my teeth in a feral grin. "I'm fine." I took another less than confident step, my cast caught my other heel and I stumbled. Near made a movement to grab my arm, just as I caught and righted myself. With my back to him I drew a breath to steady my bouncing nerves and then turned to smirk at the boy. "See, no problems."

Near's lips twitched though his eyes remained as emotionally shuttered as ever. "So I see. However, as I am traveling in the same direction I shall join you, I'm sure that you would not be opposed to some company?"

I grit my teeth at the way he simply assumed that I would even want his company, much less appreciate it. "Whatever." I muttered. "Not like I could stop you anyway."

We set off at a slow pace with Near unashamedly studying every single step that I took and matching my slow limp with his awkward shuffles. I kept my focus on the door ahead, the door that would lead me out into freedom, to Matt and away from this specter of a child at my side. My portal back to reality and some semblance of sanity where Near and I could dutifully ignore each other once more.

My pace slowed quickly and Near began to pull ahead, his white shirt, white curls and milky pale skin slowly dominating my vision, mocking me. I set my jaw against the sudden rise of inferiority to Near, he was leading me, like a master did his puppy.

I stopped and slumped my shoulder against the wall; chest heaving and my tongue lolling… may as well fit the role fully. Near stopped and slowly tilted his head over his shoulder at me, brows knitting in what appeared to be concern.

"Are you struggling? I can slow my pace if you'd prefer…"

"No!" I snapped my frustration drowned out by my panting great mouthfuls of air. "I can keep up. I'm not going to come after you. I'm not weak."

Near tangled his hand amongst his snowy curls and pursed his lips. "Why do you feel this desire for superiority? Should you not appreciate your good fortune that you are as self-reliant as you are after all you have suffered? You are injured, quite severely I might add, accepting help and or consideration from another does not prove weakness."

"What the hell do you know about weakness and inferiority? You're treated like some sort of trinket. All bundled up and wrapped in cotton wool like a precious china figurine." I snorted.

"I understand the anxiety of feeling inadequate, unworthy, comparing myself against another for strengths and weaknesses." His eyes shuttered briefly, though instead of reinforcing his defenses, a sliver of a far too little used emotion flitted behind them. I couldn't make it out. "Refusing to accept the inevitability is the only weakness that mankind possesses. I am quite willing to accept that." His lips twitched and he flinched slightly when he tweaked a bang a little too hard. "And while I became quite advanced intellectually for a child of my age and circumstances, I never took the time to learn the basic life skills that a lesser intelligent child masters at the age of three. The reason behind this is that I focus my attention on one task at a time. Through matter of importance. You, however, your focus is splintered. You take on too much than what you can deal with, even now your drive is fractured." He indicated to my cast. "Your main priority is to heal, and yet you force yourself to nurture a friendship that distracts you from your true path as 'L's Successor,' even at the cost of hindering your recovery. Why? Is it truly because you care for this boy, that you feel some kind of kinship with him? Or is it simply because having him around lessens the disappointment of your own failures?"

I wasn't looking at him anymore. I couldn't. It felt like Near was pinning me spread-eagled and dissecting me slowly, like a student would a toad in science class, to see how I worked. "Isn't relying on another a weakness also?"

I shuddered.

What made it worse was that what Near was saying made sense to me. Was the only reason I chose to hang around with Matt more due to his position as third made my being second easier for me to swallow than because I genuinely liked the boy?

It could be… But then, the relief I felt when I woke up in the hospital and found him bleary-eyed with exhaustion and misery, sitting at my bedside, that hadn't been manufactured. And the first night I spent in the temporary dorm downstairs, he'd spent it with me. I awoke the following morning to find him curled up beside me, arm clutching my hip, face buried against my neck and his leg entwined with mine, his ankle hooking my uninjured one. That wasn't a façade. It couldn't be. Matt was my friend because I liked him. I wouldn't have done any of the things for him that I had otherwise. Near was just too good at screwing with my head without meaning to.

"Why are you doing this to me Near?" I mumbled, not lifting my head but peering through the curtain of blond. "Why must you analyze my every move and every progression? Am I just some sort of project to you?"

Near paused with his fidgeting and studied the glinting slivers of blue peeking through the strands. "Not at all, Mello. I simply wish to understand. You have this burning desire to be exceptional and yet you also strive to lead a normal existence. You want to stand alone at the pinnacle of greatness yet, when it's offered to you, you grope for someone to stand at your side. Everything about you is a contradiction in itself."

I screwed my eyes shut and wished that I hadn't left my room.

Thundering footsteps echoed from ahead and I parted my lashes in time to see Matt, red-faced and sweaty stumble to a stop at my side. He took one look at me, then slid his eyes to Near, his brows hooding and then he doubled over, his hands on his thighs, deep-breathing.

_Way to make an impression Matt._

Near shifted, obviously feeling uncomfortable with Matt hunched over and panting like he'd just run a marathon whilst glowering at him from beneath sweaty bangs.

"You alright Mell's?" He wheezed, pulling himself upright with obvious difficulty. "You should've sent someone to fetch me if you wanted to get up, I'd have helped you."

I shrugged. "You were playing with the others."

He grinned. "Playing, yes. With the others, not so much. I've been sat out for the last twenty minutes in the penalty box."

I grinned. Matt was, unless teamed with me, the worst football player ever. He rarely spent longer than ten minutes on the pitch at any time, always tackling too heavily and kicking another kid's ankle or challenging a head too late. Whether he was committing these football crimes purposely or not remained a mystery, even to me. All I knew was the moment a cry went up it was usually a Matt victim shrieking. "What did you do this time?"

"Took down Race, hard. He was shirt-pulling and I went in for a tackle and wiped him out. Man, I've never seen someone cry like-"

"He has managed quite well without your assistance." Near ventured, interrupting Matt's tale of football violence.

I shifted to a more comfortable position and watched. Since the fall Matt had steered clear of the boy. I think he blamed him for my accident and therefore couldn't stomach even being in the same room as Near. This would be interesting.

Matt snapped to face the pale boy, his lip curling and his eyes narrowing in an expression that I had thought completely beyond the physical abilities of his usually gentle face. "If he was coping so well then why are **you **here? Why aren't you busy playing with your shitty little toys and dice instead of stalking him?"

"I was hardly stalking him. I was simply keeping him company while he-"

Matt took a menacing step toward him. "Oh, go jack off on your Barbie's you little creep. He doesn't like you. I don't like you, so I'd make myself scarce if I were you, or else…"

I bit my lip to stop myself laughing. It would be inappropriate at this moment. Matt looked positively murderous and Near, he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a nervous little jig, eyes darting from Matt's snarl to my smile, his mouth kept twitching as though he wanted to asked the childish question in response to the 'or else' threat but thought better of it.

After a moment or two Matt finally moved. Near tensed, but instead of shoving the smaller boy backwards, Matt took one crutch from my hand and drew that arm across my shoulders, his other arm encircling my waist. We turned and headed back toward my dorm leaving Near to stand alone behind us, his hand creeping to curl beside his ear…

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**Okay… so did not know if I would manage this chapter at all… And it still seems a little… lacking to me. However I shall post it, read reviews and re-vamp it if I'm still unhappy with it… (I think I just needed to tack something on the end but we'll see what you guys have to say.)  
**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Authors Note:**_

_Okay, I'm attempting a different approach for part of this chapter, and I stress this is just for part of it. I know I have been telling this monster through Mello's eyes and that shall continue however a change of perspective is in order. This is only temporary. My__ back injury has taken a slight turn for the worse and has seized up quite badly… Getting old is not good for your health._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. I just molest it on a regular basis. (I can't think of any more slightly humorous disclaimers to use…sorry.)_

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter. XIII**

He perched on the very lip of the cushioned seat, his toes curling like talons to maintain his precarious position as he leaned forwards to click the communication button linking himself to his guardian who currently resided in Japan.

"Very well Watari, I would like for you to begin making the arrangements for my travel to join you and you may inform the NPA of my movements."

A very artificial voice cut through the static. "Certainly L. And the children..?"

L's dark rimmed eyes shuttered briefly, his insides were flitting around nervously like a bird begging to soar from its cage, and every one of his synapses that buzzed foretold disaster. But, this was his life. What Watari had raised him for and why they had assembled the collection of fresh young minds to groom into his image.

The Kira case.

A sudden shudder caressed his spine with tentacles of ice and ill-boding but he dismissed it. "They are secure in Roger's care."

Silence sizzled along the line, and then. "That is not my meaning, as you are well aware."

His bare toes moved together and caressed each other with an almost tender touch. "There is still much tension between the two boys, though that is not necessarily cause of a disadvantage, perhaps more of a catalyst enabling them to better themselves. Certainly in Mello's case, his rivalry with Near is more a drive than any real cause of concern."

Again Watari paused. "I shall make the arrangements for tomorrow evening then. I will return to escort you in the morning."

"Thank you Watari."

* * *

I lay sprawled along the length of Matt's bed, my head and shoulders dangling upside down over the foot end as I watched him lead a small team of men into a demonic massacre. Gunfire blazed. Creatures shrieked as bullets tore their bodies apart in a gruesome display of spiraling limbs and fat crimson droplets. Though I didn't share Matt's love for games, I could appreciate the appeal that this particular game had to offer. Guns, monsters and bloodshed- the sudden surge of testosterone that puberty had injected into my system combined with the secret blood lust that all adolescent boys harbored was not lost on me.

Behind his goggles, Matt's eyes darted from the dying twitches of one beast to the next one which bellowed an inhuman shriek as bullets riddled its torso, causing it to spasm momentarily before its chest cavity exploded. Pixilated gore splattered the screen, blocking Matt's view momentarily and allowing a sudden wave of monsters to descend upon his small team.

"Shit." He mumbled. Thumbs tapping rapidly and tongue tip now clenched firmly between his teeth as he fought valiantly despite the distracting cries from his men as they perished beneath talons and fangs. The game switched to a cut-scene, the camera panning round and surveying the devastation, a sole survivor stood amongst the carnage as the creatures crept closer snarling. He was surrounded. The only one left. Matt leaned to hit the reset button and I moved to grab his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"Resetting. I got my ass whupped."

"You've still got a guy."

"Yeah," he snorted, hitting the start button and pausing the game. "_**One **_guy against like…" He pointed to the heaving mass of creatures, lips moving…

"Matt, are you actually counting them?"

He shook his head and un-paused the game, launching himself into a suicidal fight against the hordes, gunning down the nearest one. After he'd wiped out the first wave he paused again, and proceeded to wipe his palms on his pants, eyes darting behind his goggles and I swear I could hear the wheels in his mind turning as he planned his next attack.

I cocked my brow and peered at him from my upside down position on his bed. "What are you doing?"

"Tactics." He replied simply and hit start again, wiping out another wave of creatures.

"Tactics?" I echoed. "Looks more like cheating from where I am."

Matt shrugged his shoulders and paused for the third time. His 'tactics' were actually quite effective. He'd killed more than half of the monsters and only taken minimal damage to himself. "That's because you're looking at things the wrong way round."

I scrambled to a sitting position. "Still looks like cheating."

"Ha ha. Funny aint'cha. I'm doing what my instincts are telling me to do, that's all Mell's."

"Let's just hope that you don't ever have to rely on your instincts, otherwise you're a dead man walking. No start button in the real word."

"Thank you Captain Obvious. Not like all of your judgment calls have worked out so great either is it? Remind me again, who was it who has just spent the last eight weeks in a full leg cast because a 'snap decision' of his involved falling out of the window?"

I dropped on top of him, bowling him to the ground. His shriek of surprise rang in my ears as I grabbed his shoulders and pinned him on his side. His shirt had lifted slightly, bunched beneath my hips and displaying the pale skin of his belly. I grinned and his eyes widened behind his goggles. "No! I know what you're planning Mello, don't you even think it!"

I altered my straddle, nudging him onto his back with my knees and pinning his shoulders with my forearm and bringing my face mere inches from his. He wriggled vainly, aware that he was trapped and that his efforts for escape were wasted. His eyes narrowed momentarily beneath his bangs. "I hate you so much."

Despite his glare and his words, Matt simply could not hide the affectionate grin tugging itself onto his lips. My free hand shot under his shirt and played over his ribs, tracing light circles and curves over the skin. Peals of laughter burst from Matt's lips, his mood manipulated beneath my nimble fingers and his screeches drowning out the dismal cries as his last man was ripped to shreds by the creatures on the screen.

* * *

L shuffled through the hallways of the Institute. His home. The place that he had been raised in since the age of five. He'd seen every last God awful painting that hung from the bland walls thousands of times in his lifetime, seen them but not fully absorbed the full extent of their subjects.

He did this now.

As he lingered in front of one particularly horrendous monstrosity when there was this strange feeling churning from within his chest, telling him that this would be the final time that he shuffled along these corridors. Heard distant shouts of the children, offered a second chance by these walls. Given hope and a place to belong until whatever it was that loomed over the horizon for them, swooped in and claimed them.

He suppressed a shudder. These walls had seen it all from success to death. Children forced to mature far too quickly like Mello. Children cracking beneath the pressure and taking their own lives like A. Children so determined to outshine the original that their sanity snapped as they became the very thing that they were groomed to prevent, like B.

L's shoulders sagged a little lower and his burden grew a little heavier to bare. He knew, as much as he tried not to think of it, that what awaited all of these innocent little waifs and strays taken in by Quillsh Wammy, with every genuine intention, was a life that was not truly their own.

Uneven footsteps thundered along the hallway, causing L to cut his concerns short as a blond blur tore into view, head turned over his shoulder and laughing until he collided with the bony blockade that was his knees.

* * *

I thumped onto my rear and peered up at L. His dark eyes looked almost deadened as he gazed back at me. Something was wrong. His posture seemed tense in its slouch and his eyes, though shuttered as usual, were almost sad.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could utter my first word, Matt bundled on top of me. His fingers clawing at my shirt as he straddled me, holding me down so to return my earlier tickle attack ten-fold.

I raised my arms to ward him off and push him away, but he was relentless in his attack and soon I was gasping for breath and squirming beneath him laughter wracking my small frame. I felt a blush settle across my nose. Embarrassed by my ridiculously feminine squeals and giggles, but more so because they were uttered in the presence of L.

Finally I gathered enough leverage to shunt Matt off of me and glare at him venomously, mentally blaming him for my lack of dignity. But Matt wasn't looking at me anymore. As he sat back on his heels, goggles hanging loose around his neck, he stared at L with a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, obviously embarrassed himself at being caught in such a compromising position straddling my hips.

His embarrassment was short lived as L bent and wrapped his thin, bird-like fingers around my sleeve.

"I would like to discuss something with you Mello." He said quietly before sliding his gaze to Matt. "I'm sure you have no objections to my request do you Matt?"

He shook his head, the goggle lenses clicking together around his neck.

L nodded and turned and lead me along the corridor at a pace so quick that I had to trot in pace with his strides and even then I couldn't pull alongside him.

L bobbed his head into each and every room we passed until he found an unoccupied one, after leading me inside he turned and shut the door. I stood and watched him nervously. There was something seriously bothering him. He was acting really strangely.

With his back still facing me, he spoke. His voice seemed distant, almost as though his mind were elsewhere. "I have something important to discuss with you Mello, please, sit."

"I swear I didn't do anything!" My declaration of innocence went up immediately, causing L to raise his dark brows beneath his bangs.

"I never accused you of any misdeeds…" He said softly as he clambered to perch on the only seat in this particular room. "And an immediate claim to innocence indicates a guilty conscience."

I folded my legs beneath myself and dropped sulkily to the floor. L watched me carefully for a moment, his head tilting in angles that made me wonder if his neck possessed any solid bones in it at all, and then he spoke gently. "Have you heard of the Kira case that is currently occurring in Japan?"

I frowned. "Of course. I wrote a paper on it for Politics and turned it in just last week. Haven't you received it yet?"

He drew his thumb along his lower lip, pulling it down slightly to reveal his bottom row of teeth, supposedly deep in thought. 'Ah, yes. I remember it now. Very well written piece it was too. I recall Near also submitted his paper on Kira as well as you. It took a moment for me to recall your piece…"

"I'm sorry, did I not sign it with a big fat number 2!? How terribly inconsiderate of me. However are you supposed to know it's mine unless I do that?" I spat.

L jerked his head up sharply. His eye's skewering me right in the middle of my temper tantrum. "You signed it 'Mello' as you usually do all your assignments. I merely confused myself for a moment trying to identify which paper was yours and which was Near's. If you feel that a number 2 would improve memory of you then, by all means sign that." He paused. "Now, if you are quite finished acting childishly, I brought you here because I would like to discuss-"

I flinched. That 'childish' remark stung. I leapt to my feet and shouted. "I am not acting childishly! I am not a number! I am Mello! Mello! Mello! Mello! MELLO!" My voice cracked under the stress of my temper as well as with the onset of puberty.

"I am well aware of your name. Now, if you can calm down and retake your seat upon the floor, we shall continue the discussion. If you can not or will not, then you may leave as I will not waste what I have to say on a sulking child."

I glowered at him, refusing to budge either way. L held my gaze with his own unblinking one, waiting for me to make my decision. After a few moments I finally caved and sat.

"Thank you. Now, I would like to discuss with you three cases that I hold very dear to myself. The first occurred not too long ago. It is known as The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases…"

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**L's going to Japan… Oh no's… We all know what happens next don't we? Just a fair warning, hold on to your hats cos we're gonna start massively time skipping in the next few chapters. Sorry for the changes in perspective in this but I needed to switch to third person for those parts. Shan't happen again. OOOOOh L's telling Mello his stories now…**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Authors Note:**_

_Well it's been a while I know. Many things happened last week, mostly bad but a few good. Matt has finally made it onto my arm in form of tattoo and now I'm bruised as an over ripe piece of fruit. The ball's rolling on my visiting the US for an anime convention next year and excitement is slowly over-riding the horrific incidents I have had to suffer… though again another plus… my back has ceased to hurt me… that's something I guess._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. I am making plans to steal it, but…_

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter. XIV**

October 31st…

Halloween. This day means little to the British populace. Sure, they take part in the menial celebrations, though with great reluctance. Throw small celebrations; perhaps take their children Trick or Treating in the immediate neighborhood for an hour or two. An activity both Matt and myself had plans for. Our annual tradition. Free candy and prank pulling… this day was invented for us.

Forget the Pagan mythology that signified this day as the day that the boundaries between the dead and the living were dissolved, and the dead became dangerous toward the living. Forget the traditional reasoning that the ghoulish costumes and masks were to mimic the dead for protection or to placate them. It was a day to enjoy, a day of fun.

Halloween held only two meanings for me. The meaning that I have already pointed out, as well as L's birthday.

Usually, L would be present at Wammy's for his birthday; Watari insisted that we celebrate it as a family. A slightly messed up and mis-matched family, but a family none the less.

However, due to the complexity of the Kira case, L was unable to return to the orphanage he called home. We were devastated, naturally, until Roger called us into one of the common rooms that we used for such causes of celebration. Christmas, New Years and the like.

To the delight of the younger children, propped upon a table at the front of the room was a computer terminal. A calligraphic L floating upon the starch white background causing them to chatter quietly amongst themselves as they quickly infested the floor immediately in front of the screen. Some sitting cross-legged, some on their knees, and some leaned back on their hands and attempted to look cool despite knowing that their was no way that their idol could see them.

I, however, took up a position further back. Opting to stand rather than join the clamoring mass of bodies on the floor. Since my accident, I still had trouble with my knee, I probably always will. Pulling a chocolate bar from my pocket, I peeled back the silver foil before placing the corner between my teeth as I leaned back and studied the children.

Matt took his usual position at my side, video game in hand, pausing every now and again to shove his messy bangs from his eyes.

In L's year long absence the boy had undergone some startling changes, slamming into puberty and shooting out the other side a good 2 feet taller, though he was still shorter than me… barely. His voice had deepened over night, meaning he missed all the embarrassing cracks and strains that I had suffered, lucky bastard. His puppy fat had all but melted away and now he was almost as gangly and long limbed as I was. But his most startling transformation he had undergone had to be his attitude. He was still lazy and laid-back, but his sense of loyalties had intensified, making him fiercely protective. He no longer sought my protection as he had when we were kids, now he could look after himself, and me if he felt I needed it.

I smirked behind my chocolate, tongue sweeping upwards as I lapped the melting sweet rather than biting and watched as Matt flipped his longer hair from his eyes a second time. He grumbled something, paused the game and trapped the console between his legs while he pushed his goggles into the mass of reddish brown and anchored the offending strands from his eyes.

Then he lifted his gaze to mine. Lips twisting into that lopsided grin of his before poking out his tongue and rescuing his game from his thighs.

I rolled my eyes at him, he'd grown up… but I never mentioned any progress in his maturity.

I removed my chocolate from my mouth and prepared to return his gesture, maturity is highly over-rated anyway. My tongue hard barely made it past my lips before the warning shout from a small girl snapped my focus to the screen.

"It's L! It's L!" Her chubby little fists waved in excitement as the stylized letter began to slowly rotate, indicating that L was indeed present.

"Hello children."

Our desire was to portray a calm and sophisticated group of intelligent youngsters, however, when the age ranges from between five and fourteen, the response is somewhat less organized and impressive.

Voices began on several different topics, all piling over one another until it was nothing more than a choir of garbled nonsense.

After a minute or two the drone faded and the tiny girl who'd announced the detective's presence piped up again.

"Happy birthday to you." She began softly, her voice wobbling with the sudden onset of shyness as she sang the childish song. But, more voice joined hers and eased her nervousness. By the time the song ended, even I had joined in the sentiments and waited anxiously for L's response.

Silence buzzed along the line and then an awkward clearing of his throat… "Th-thank you. That was most endearing of you all to remember. I believed I was to merely check in on your progression in my absence not to receive any acknowledgment of today's significance.."

Children turned to one another and beamed in delight. Catching L off-guard was a difficult feat to accomplish.

"The date had completely slipped my mind. This investigation has completely absorbed all of my attention, like when I awaken in the middle of the night, headed for the bathroom and as I try to find the light switch, I hurt my foot every time because I forget the layout of the room… That and because I'm an idiot."

The children laugh at this. And I slip the chocolate bar between my lips again to hide a small smile, L's demure persona softens around us and he slips easily into the role of the older sibling. Making us laugh, checking in on us.

"Are there any questions you children would like to ask?"

And then slipping straight back into the role of the professional detective.

"I have a question please L." The same little girl raises her hand.

"Go ahead."

"Is there anything that frightens you?"

"Thing's that frighten me?" L sounded confused by the question put to him. But before he can say anything more an older boy interrupts.

"Huh? That's stupid. That's a stupid question. L's not afraid of nothing!"

L ignores the boy's remark and poses a question of his own. "It is because I'm an idiot, isn't it…"

Snigger's ripple through the children again.

"Me too," the little girl said. "I'm like L…"

The older boy interrupts again, this time he aims a harsh remark at the girl. "No you're not. You're nothing like L. You're just an idiot. You're stupid."

Her lip wobbles and she swivels around on her rear to glare at the boy. "I'm not-"

"Perhaps." L cuts in before the row can escalate. "But there are things that an idiot has to fear. An idiot is afraid that he is being made fun of, of his childhood, of his dreams, of the things that he holds dear to himself and which no one else could understand. And finally, he is afraid that he is being lied to. L doesn't like being lied to. An idiot is always submitted to his fear, because he is honest with himself. The idiots are also the humans who submit to their desires. When they are hungry, they eat. When they want to read and expand their knowledge, they take a book. When they cry, they look for comfort. I am the type of idiot with all these desires and fears. And I am proud of being an idiot with these flaws. Because, you see children, this means that I am also a human as are all of you."

The conversation carried on but I lost track of the questions and the answers L gave in response. L has just delivered a piece of personal information for us to treasure and those fools prattle on about stupid things. I have a question I would like to ask, but not in front of the others. I slide my gaze to Matt and wait until he catches my eye. A moment later he glances at me and cocks a brow in question. I shake my head and mouth a single word.

'Later.'

* * *

"Are you sure about this Mel's?" Matt peered nervously over his shoulder at me as he tapped away at the keyboard, trying to crack the computer systems firewalls. The white glow emitted from the screen makes his already pale skin look ghostly. "I'm not so sure that this is such a good idea. L installs these firewalls and scramblers as a means of protecting himself. Do you really think that he'll appreciate us hacking his system?"

We waited until the house had turned into bed for the night, listening for Roger to retire before sneaking back to the common room and firing up the computer.

I smile and grab his shoulders, holding him still as I lower my lips to his ear I smirk as he tenses in my grasp. "I have faith in you. You're the most talented computer nerd I've met. I need you to do this for me. I have to talk to L. If we get in trouble for this then blame me, I don't mind."

Matt snorts and rubs the bridge of his nose, pushing his goggles higher. "I was gonna blame you anyway. No way I'm gonna risk my ass for one of your sudden brainwaves. Last time I did that I thought Roger was gonna nail my hide to the wall. Never seen the guy so angry."

I smirked and gave his shoulder a particularly hard squeeze. "You were sloppy that time. This time, I accept that I coerced you into this. Deal?"

The hacker's cheeks twitched as he smiled. "Deal."

His eyes darting so fast behind those lenses of gold that it made me dizzy, how he could read, decipher and react to those lines of encrypted data at such speed was beyond me. A few keystrokes later and the screen went black. Matt's fingers froze over the keys. "Oh shit."

"What?" I demanded. "Did you get through? Is it good news?"

"Since when has 'oh shit' ever indicated good news?" He snapped, his eyes never leaving the now darkened screen, fingers twitching as he restrained from hammering any more keys. "I don't get why it did this…"

Then the screen flashed white. I recoiled and threw my arm over my eyes. After a few moments of rapidly blinking away the dancing colours from my vision I returned my focus to the screen. The calligraphic L was once again suspended in a sea of white.

Matt pushed his chair onto two legs, knees wedged between him and the desk, arms folded behind his head with a smirk on his face that reminded me of a cat who ate the canary and who was now eying the goldfish bowl.

"Come on Mel's, tell me, how awesome am I?"

I rolled my eyes, shoved his knees down and sat on him, ignoring his squawks of protest. "Yeah, yeah. You're awesome. Great. Orgastastic. Now how do I-?"

"Who is this?" A scrambled and irritated voice rasped through the speakers and we both went rigid.

L was talking to us. He didn't sound happy. No surprise there. We'd just hacked his system. Matt jabbed me in the ribs and gestured for me to speak.

"Um… I-we…"

"Mello?" L's natural voice came through now. No scramblers. Just sharp and irritated. "What on Earth..! Do you have any idea what you have done?!"

I winced. "But I just wanted to talk with you. I wanted to know more about what you said earlier."

"So you hacked… No, Matt. Matt's with you isn't he?"

My seat flinched. I glanced down at him, his eyes were wide with worry and he shook his head as he gnawed on his thumb.

"N-no…"

"Mello." His tone cut my defenses and I knew he could see through my lie. "And you Matt. What you have just done is irresponsible and incredibly selfish… however; as you have demonstrated your determination and skill to infiltrate my systems I shall allow you the remaining three minutes and forty seconds to ask me your questions."

"Three minutes and forty seconds? Until what?" Matt asked nervously.

"The time that your machine has remaining until my systems defenses overloads your motherboard and shorts out your system, permanently. Time remaining is now three minutes."

Matt's jaw dropped and he launches forward, his chest slamming into my back and forcing my nose to press against the screen. "That's so cool."

"Indeed. Two minutes forty five seconds remaining."

Matt opened his mouth to speak again but I cut him off with a jab in the belly and a glare when I gain enough room to turn my head. I had wanted to speak with L, not him. "L?"

"Yes Mello?"

I took a deep breath. "What did you mean when you said that you were proud to be an idiot? Am I an idiot too because I submit to my own insecurities? Surely that is something that I should work on stamping out of my personality?"

The seconds tick by and L still doesn't answer me. Nerves begin to bubble in my belly and I dig my nails into Matt's thighs to calm myself, forgetting for a moment that I am sitting on top of him. Matt yelps and squirms beneath me but I ignore it.

Is L going to answer my question or not?

"Being an idiot is not something that you should be ashamed of." He answers finally. "It shows you the frailty that it means to be human. Far too many think that because they are intelligent that they are superior to others. Reminding yourself of the small incidents and flaws that you have, as well as your needs, grounds you back into a more sane sense of being. Never lose sight of that. Even in the darkest moments of you existence. You may find being an idiot could very well save your life one day."

I stare at the screen. My head hurts a little from the close proximity and the encrypted meaning behind L's words. "But, I…"

The screen turns black and the motors in the tower grinds to a halt. I tilt my head over my shoulder and gaze at Matt, confusion evident in my eyes. "Did his computer..?"

Matt nods. "Oh, yeah." He grins wildly. "That was so awesome."

I sigh.

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**This chapter was written to Death Note re-write 2, a summarize of the Mello/Near arc that was released in a special broadcast in Japan… though I altered the date and content to a degree. I apologize to those who feel cheated by this chapter but I have been struggling to gather inspiration to write for the last few weeks and this chapter was giving me some major headaches… (Thankfully however, I have a wonderful friend who helped me through my issues with this and I hope she knows who she is otherwise, next time I talk to her she shall find herself soundly beaten. lol)**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Authors Note:**_

_Okay, I've been meaning to mention this since I posted chapter 13. There is a song that helped me get into the frame of mind for the L pieces; the song is 'Home' by Three Days Grace. Well this one was written to 'Never Too Late' by Three Days Grace. Not much more to say except, roll on May 26__th__…_

_Oh, before I forget… I am aware that though L died on November 5__th__ and that Mello and Near didn't find out until December 5__th__, I find that the beauty of fan fiction lies in just that reason. It is fan based fiction and therefore subject to the author's interpretation… Like art. I have fudged the dates a little for this for purposes of tying the date into a famous British historical event, in which the very foundations of British hierarchy and politics was shaken (Hmmm, ties in with the notion of Kira's brand of judgment, ne?) and the effect would be kinda lost if I stuck religiously to the official time line._

_That all said and done… if you still feel the urge to castrate me over this then feel free… though I believe I have still done the story justice._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own Death Note. I do, however, own the fudge that I am currently nibbling on… (Yes Raven, I know I'm on a diet but I crave and I am weak…)_

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter. XV**

'_Remember… remember… The fifth of November. Gunpowder, treason and plot. I see no reason why gunpowder and treason should ever be forgot…'_

Matt hummed the words quietly to himself as we sat outside, beneath one of the many shedding trees of Wammy's grounds, taking advantage of the late autumn sunlight. He was playing one of his many consoles, his back pressed against my shoulder as I worked on my paper of the 'Gunpowder plot.' A historical event in which Guy Fawkes intended to blow up British Parliament in 1605, thus plummeting the country into up-roar. A fitting punishment he felt for the crime that Parliament had committed against the British people, based on conflicting religious views. A failed attempt, I might add. He was discovered and executed for treason. Though, depending on the point of view, it is arguable just 'who' was the traitorous one. However, it was celebrated each year from 1606 in form of fireworks and bonfires.

The children's nursery rhyme that Matt was humming had been passed down each generation since then, a warning that treason shall never be tolerated in Britain.

I loved bonfire night. The bringing together of two historical features. The story of Guy Fawkes and the Chinese invention of the firework. Each year the children, who were not afraid of the loud noises, would huddle outside in thick coats cupping mugs of steaming cocoa and toasting marshmallows on skewers over a smaller fire and stare up in wonder at the bright flashes of colour and screeches as rockets soared.

Matt wriggled and jogged my elbow as I finished off my paper. I grumbled and jabbed him in the spine.

"Sorry." He muttered. Then he flipped off the game and rolled onto his front. "Hey Mel's?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think Roger will let us help with the fireworks tonight? I mean you're fifteen next month and I'm almost fourteen. We're practically grown up enough to drive so there shouldn't be a problem right?"

I slipped my gaze over to my friend as he propped his chin on my knee. I scrawled my last few notes before laying my paper down beside me. "Doubtful. Do you have any idea how dangerous fireworks can be? I mean, he might let me as _I am_ older. You, I doubt he'll even let you hold a sparkler much less light explosives. He might let you help the smaller kids stuff the Guy. Even you couldn't screw that up."

Matt stuck his tongue out at me. "Thanks for that Mel's. Always so supportive."

I ruffled his mop gently, like a sibling would to a younger one. "You're welcome." Then I smirked and shoved him away. "Now get your face off my knee, you gay sod!"

Matt exaggerated the shove and rolled a few feet away. Dead leaves catching in his messy tresses and dried grass clinging to his shirt.

The wind kicked up suddenly and I shivered. Matt pushed to his feet and shoved his game into his rear pants pocket, then tugged his long sleeves over his hands in an attempt to protect his fingers. "Wind's picking up… You wanna head inside. Warm up before tonight's display? Catch a short nap or something."

I nodded, standing as well and stuffing my notes into my own pocket.

We jogged for the house, the pace warming us slightly. Matt, ever so graceful Matt, stumbled into me and knocked me off course slightly. That knock developed into a playful and slightly competitive shoving match between us, pushing one behind the other, each trying to cross over the threshold into the house first and bumping into a gaggle of smaller children as they tried to move out of our way. I managed to dip in front of Matt and turned to keep him behind me, my hand atop of his head and playful holding him back as I jogged backwards…

Naturally, moving backwards meant that I couldn't see where I was going which wasn't a problem until I slammed against a blockade. Before I could look over my shoulder, a gnarled hand seized my wrist of the hand that was holding Matt back and hoisted it above my head.

I twisted round to see Roger peering disapprovingly at me through his tiny spectacles. I scowled back. Roger's always blaming me for things… mostly things that I haven't done, just conniving to do. "Come with me please, Mello." He grunted and pulled my down a side corridor. I trotted at his heels, unable to do much else, and threw a glance over my shoulder at Matt who looked as confused as I felt.

'What did I do now?' I mouthed at Matt who simply shrugged in response.

Roger stopped sharply and leaned into the doorway of one of the playrooms. I peered round the mans body and bit back a low and frustrated growl.

A small and slender frame clad all in white had his back to us, but I knew exactly who it was.

"Near. Would you please accompany us to my office?"

Near tilted his head over his shoulder, dark eyes standing bright against the bleak whiteness of his clothing and his pale skin tone. "Certainly."

* * *

"What? Roger! What did you just say?" I demanded, my voice straining to prevent my grief from slipping through and betraying me.

"It's L. He's dead." The man repeated slowly.

The silence that followed was deafening, only punctuated by the perfectly rhythmic taps as Near methodically continued with his puzzle that he had brought with him from the playroom.

I clutched the edges of Roger's desk as though to restrain myself from climbing on top and pushing my face into the old man's, but mostly it was to hold me upright as my knees wobbled and threatened to give out beneath me. It had to be a joke. Some sick joke to see how we would react. Death was a new prospect for me to deal with. I hadn't even so much as had a hamster's death to deal with in my life; my mom had never let me have a pet. My only experience with death was the Saturday morning cartoons that me and Matt would watch when we were younger, clutching our cereal bowls and watching in delight as Wil.E Coyote died again and again and again, only to keep returning with one last scheme before the credits rolled. It sounds stupid, but at almost fifteen, I still clung to the idea of death being temporary. All I had to do was wait for the sick old man to crack a smile and laugh…

But it never came. In fact, Roger appeared to wipe away a tear from his eye…

L was gone. He wasn't coming back.

"It was Kira, wasn't it?' I mumbled. "Kira killed him. Tell me. Roger, come on, you've got to tell me!" I lunged at the man and grabbed his shoulders, hysterical and fighting the chasm of despair that I could feel widening in my chest. "He promised me… H-he promised…"

Roger gripped my elbows and held my gaze, willing me to calm down. But all the intimidating stares in the world wouldn't placate me. I had lost the man who had guided me like a father and nothing could change that. I had never felt such pain.

"Mello-"

The cry of my name didn't penetrate my grief deafened mind but the sound of cardboard cascading to the floor did. I turned to see Near, upon completing his puzzle, tip the board and start again.

"If you can't win the game…" He mumbled softly, clicking the pieces back into the frame. "If you can't solve the puzzle… Then you're just a loser."

I couldn't help but snarl at his words. There was no way L was a loser, something must've happened. Something that he hadn't been able to foresee.

I spun on Roger, fighting the urge to snarl something unpleasant in Near's direction. Distract myself. "So who'd he pick? Me or Near?"

Roger stared at me. His eyes rimmed with grief and reluctance. "Neither. He hadn't chosen yet. And now, he can't-"

My stomach plummeted like a rock. Me or Near. All of our competing, all of our efforts… it had all been for nothing.

I just stood there, head hung and shoulders slumping forward. "It's fine." I heard myself say before thinking. "Near should succeed L. Unlike me, he's focused and doesn't let his emotions get in the way." I can't believe that I'm saying this. For the last seven years this has been my goal. To succeed L. But at the final moment, I surrendered the title over to my rival. "But I'm leaving. I'm almost fifteen; it's about time that I live my life my own way…"

I spun on my heel and stalked past Near, still squatting and placing the pieces into the frame, as I pass I swear I see him pause and watch me leave the room. And in his dark, hooded gaze I see regret.

* * *

Roger rattles the doorknob but the locked door holds. "Mello! You open this door now!"

I snort and ignore him, grabbing my sports bag from the floor and ripping it open. Pivoting, I yank open my top drawer and dig an armful of clothing out to thrust into the bag before pulling my secret stash of chocolate and tossing the bars on top of my clothes.

"Mello! Think about what you're doing! You're angry and upset. You're not thinking straight."

I ignore the pleas and hoist the bag over my shoulder, threading my arm and my head through the strap, stopping at the wardrobe to grab a jacket before heading toward the widow. Then I hear a voice that stops me dead in my tracks.

"What's up Roger? Door stuck again?"

My blood pounds in my ears and panic slowly numbs my limbs. _Oh, God no. Please! _I had hoped to avoid Matt altogether. I couldn't even begin to imagine how to explain this to him. It would have been easier if I slipped away without him knowing. Easier for us both. He had been the only person that I had ever allowed close to me. The only one I'd ever wanted to. He was so much more than my best friend; he was my brother and kindred spirit. Two strays that the world turned its back on, fighting back and making it take notice.

And I was abandoning him. Like everyone else had.

I could hear Roger's muffled voice as he said something to Matt. I could guess what.

"Mel's. Come on. Open the door." His voice, though muffled was strained with a hint of panic. "We'll talk about it. I promise, we can work this out."

I bit my lip, fighting against saying anything but the words burst out. "But he's dead, Matt. I can't stay here. I have to go."

Tears burn behind my eyes, blurring my vision, and I choke on a miserable hiccup.

Then there's a slam and the door groans in the frame. "Shit!" Matt curses. Then the door rattles again.

I can't move. I want to, but my legs refuse to obey my commands. A third and fourth slam shakes a nail loose from the lock. I can hear Roger's voice trying to calm Matt as his assault on the door continues. There's a sudden bellow from my usually placid friend that startles me, aimed at Roger.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Then the door groans and rattles as three more slams shake a second nail loose. "Mello! Open the door! Mello!" Matt howls in a mix of pain and despair.

Finally the door gives, caving under Matt's vicious onslaught and my legs finally free up and I run. Leaping for the apple tree outside our window, the same tree that I had fallen from years earlier. I climb down as fast as I can, ignoring the branches scratching at my face and snagging my hair. I'm only halfway down when the branches above me groan as someone else joins the race.

I panic and jump.

Rolling as I hit the ground, I shove myself up and sprint, ignoring the thump as Matt hit the ground too. He's so bloody stubborn. He won't quit. But he can't out run me, he lacks the stamina that I have, and I have a head start.

My lungs burn as I gulp down painfully large mouthfuls of air. I can see the gates and I spur myself on harder, I doubt Matt will follow me once I'm out. I'm almost there. Just a little furth-

I stumble. My foot clipped a rise in the earth and it throws me off balance. I don't fall but I slow enough for Matt to close the distance and tackle me to the ground. We tumble, a mass of flailing limbs and heaving torso's, writhing together until Matt finally pins me face down.

He shifts his weight so that he can pull me onto my back by my elbows. Tears dot his dark lashes and his eyes gleam with hurt as he narrows them at me and twists his fists into my shirt, dragging me to semi-sit with him still straddling my hips.

"What the hell Mello? What the hell are you thinking?"

I twist in his grip, struggling to break free as a whimpering dry sob snaked up my throat and burst from my lips. "He's dead Matt. L's gone. It's over. Everything. I can't stay here anymore. I don't belong here."

Matt's lips drew back, showing teeth in a feral snarl. "You're such a fucking idiot! Of course you belong here. Where else would you belong? You're a kid, not even fifteen yet. What the hell are you planning on doing when you get out? Where will you go?"

I shrugged and lowered my gaze. I couldn't look at him, not like this. "I haven't figured it all out yet, but I'll think of something. I just… I can't stay here."

Matt closed his eyes and drew a noisy breath through his nostrils, his fist crashed upside my skull and grey spots sashayed into my vision, the blow echoed through my head.

He punched me! Matt punched me.

"Don't you care? Don't you give a shit about yourself? About me? You wouldn't last three days out there on your own. You're a tough kid Mel's. But not as tough as you think, the first psycho who stumbles on you and you're toast."

My head thumps, each pulse brings a wave of outrage with it until I explode. Shoving myself up I throw a punch back, catching him in the mouth. Matt topples backwards and I spring at him, lips curling and my mind thrumming with absolute fury. "And what? You think I need someone with me? You think I need you? You're pathetic! Look at you. You are nothing but a draw back!"

Matt flinched. I felt such a complete bastard. Honestly I did, but I had to. He couldn't come with me. I f I wouldn't last three days then he wouldn't last one. Matt is too soft. A creature of luxury. Better he stay where he was safe, warm and where the closest that he came to the hardships and tough decisions I would have to make was in his video games.

"I told you before, friendship is a fantasy, and friendship only lasts for as long as you're useful. And I have news for you Matt, your usefulness has run out. And I can't waste anymore time babysitting you."

His eyes darkened in unfathomable rage and hurt, and I braced for him to hit me again. But the blow never came. Instead he simply shoved me off him and pushed to his feet, wiping the back of his hand over his lips and smearing the blood trickling from his split lip.

I wasn't prepared for what came next. Of all the hurt and heartbreak I had suffered in my short life, Matt's reaction cut me so much deeper without him being cruel.

"If you believe that." He said softly, eyes downcast and hooded. "If you truly believe that and think that everything we ever had was fake, then go. Walk out of those gates and don't look back."

I choked on my voice as a lump suddenly clogged my throat. "Matt. Please…"

"Go on. I won't follow you if you manage it."

I turned and took a step away. Everything inside me screamed at me to not take up his challenge. Screamed at me to turn back and grab his hand to drag him after me. The wrought iron gates loomed over me, threatening and foreboding.

I had imagined they day I left here so many times. With the sun shining, L smiling at me as I struck out into the world on my own as a man. And with Matt at my side.

I paused barely two feet in front of the gates and took a breath. My shoulders beginning to twist…

But I stopped, my desire to see Matt one last time succumbing to the desire to protect him and keep him safe, and forced myself through…

'Remember… remember… The fifth of November. Gunpowder, treason and plot. I see no reason why gunpowder and treason should ever be forgot…'

Thanks to Kira, November the fifth could never be forgotten in my mind… It was the day that the so called 'Being of Justice' destroyed everything…

He took away the man I loved and idolized. My home and my best friend.

And for that, I would see that he paid…

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**I know in the manga, that the kid that Mello was pushing about before Roger grabbed him wasn't Matt. But as I'm having Mello interact more so with said gamer, I'm twisting the facts to suit 'my' desires. Such is the beauty of fan fiction. Oh no's Mello has gone…any tears? I cried…**_

_**Big time skips for the next chapter. Yes I know I said that before, but this time I mean it. We are headed for the Mafia as I have that chapter already plotted. So you could be seeing that posted tomorrow. (You lucky devils… three posts in four days.) I felt kinda guilty neglecting you all for so long… hopefully this will make up for it a little.**_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Authors Note:**_

_I've been dropping hints about this chapter for ages, mostly at poor Raven. (Who, in case you haven't guessed, is the one I turn to often to storyboard and bounce my ideas for this off of when inspiration abandons me. She's always been so patient with me which isn't always easy, so for that she has my ever-lasting gratitude.) And now, I finally get to sit down and type it, then decide it's crap, scrap it and start again, which is how I deal with most of my chapters. Lol. So often I scrap ninety percent of what I write after deeming it unimpressive. Ah well, the author or artist is usually their own harshest critic… Or so I'm told._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_If Death Note belonged to me, then that would make me Japanese, male and cool… As I am British, female and not I guess it doesn't… Bam! How's that for L-like logic?_

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter. XVI**

Ross doesn't trust me.

I wouldn't trust me either. A barely legal kid, dressed in leather- like a cross between a pimp, a transvestite, and a prostitute- approaching the Kingpin of the second largest crime organization in the US and offering him up the head of a rival group leader on a silver platter. Hence, the several gleaming firearms trained on my chest at this precise moment.

I was in way over my head this time. And I had done some questionable things to get this far. From thieving so I could eat, and turning tricks to earn plane fare over here. I wasn't proud, but I did what I had to.

Ross leaned forward and poured himself a shot of tequila from the bottle on the table, downing it without so much as a grimace. He'd listened to what I'd had to say and hadn't laughed me out of the room. I'd taken this as a good sign so far…

"Alright, I've heard enough. Neylon, get rid of him."

_Oh, fuck…_

My eyes darted from one big buffed up guy to the next until 'Neylon' broke rank. He was a pathetic looking specimen, beady little rat eyes gleaming behind his glasses as he stepped closer. His dirty, lank hair and weathered face screamed years of drink and drug abuse.

His mouth pulled back into a feral smirk, hand closing around my wrist as he jammed the muzzle of his gun to the underside of my jaw, tilting my head backwards slightly.

I was horrified. Not because I had a gun pressed to my chin, but because this guy thought he could intimidate me and the he relished in that assumption.

He was shorter than me. Looked about ten pounds lighter too. I was offended that Ross believed that this gun was worthy of putting a bullet in my head.

The guy reminded me so much of my 'step-father,' the bogeyman of my childhood, and all of the hurt and abuse that he had stained me with, that he had left festering inside my mind and tainting the man I had become suddenly erupted.

My free hand shot forward, seizing the barrel of the gun and snapping it to the side. Neylon's eyes bulged and he squealed like a stuck pig, his finger dangling through the trigger guard, dislocated. He let go of my wrist in favor of cradling his injured hand.

I allowed myself a hateful sneer before wrapping a fist into his hair and slamming his face into my knee as it raced upwards. As I brought him up again, Neylon coughed, spraying pink tinged spittle over my leather vest.

Fury darkened my face and hooded my eyes. "Fucker! Leather is expensive dipshit!"

Neylon's rodent eyes widened briefly, suddenly, then closed as he slumped from the knee that I had just driven into his gut.

I swung my glare at Ross, rage still misguiding my judgment. A dozen or so heavily armed men, professional killers, baring down on me, one armless teenager. I knew I was in trouble and I had to calm down... the odds seemed in my favor to my rage-addled mind. Ross was watching me with renewed interest, one brow cocked and chin resting on his hand, waiting to see what I would do next. Then a stomach churning click penetrated the red mist that descended over my mind. Head snapping up, I turned my furious glower onto the man who'd snapped off his weapon's safety catch and was slowly moving toward me.

"Back off, kid!" He barked, his finger tightening on the trigger a touch.

I snarled, lips curling back and thighs twitching in anticipation. He was closing the gap now and I wanted to run, but it was too soon.

"I said back off!" He repeated.

If I ran now, the bastard would blow a hole through my skull. No, I had to wait. My adrenaline fueled mind only obeyed me a moment or two longer, and then I broke, still too soon. The guy squeezed off a shot. The bullet skimmed my bicep, burning over my flesh. Nothing serious but it still stung like a bitch.

He seemed more than a little surprised to see me flying toward him, my shoulder turned inwards and my upper body hunkered down, slamming my full weight into his sternum before snapping upright and smashing my crown into his jaw. He staggered backwards a few steps and I followed my assault through, swinging my fist into his face, cartilage groaning and snapping as his nose exploded beneath my knuckles.

Before I could continue my onslaught, a voice boomed over the angry shouts.

"Enough!" Ross lumbered to his feet, a sky scraper of a man, muscled and scarred by a concoction of years of rough play, gang fights and steroid usage. "Jose, back off and give the kid some room."

Jose rounded on Ross, hand cupping his face. "But, Boss, the little shit smashed my nose in."

Ross smirked. "I know. Take Neylon and clean yourselves up, perhaps I was a little rash in dismissing the kid."

Jose swung his glare back to me and I smirked at his annoyance. But the guy knew better than to argue with his boss, so he helped Neylon to his feet. Ross waited for them to leave before turning his focus back to me.

My whole body spasmed, tensing up as though wracked by simultaneous cramps. He took a step and I hunkered down.

He took another and I slid my foot back, readying myself to either fight or run…

"Take it easy kid. I aint gonna hurt you." He said and made a show of picking up his tequila bottle and a second glass.

My eyes slitted as I forced some of the tension from my tightly coiled muscles. "Maybe not you, but _they_ might. Tell them to drop their weapons and move back."

Ross smirked and raised his hand and indicated to his men. "You heard the kid. Drop 'em. Now!"

Multiple clicks echoed as numerous safety's were snapped back on and guns were re-holstered. Ross smiled a shark's grin. "See, no worries." Then he tilted his head over his shoulder to one of his boys. "Check him for wires." He ordered.

I resisted the urge to snort with laughter, where the hell was I supposed to hide a wire in my skintight leather?

I closed my eyes when the guy who stepped forward frisked me. He looked like a pedophile. Acted like one too, fairly tripped over himself in his obvious eagerness to lay his hands on me. Perhaps eighteen was his cut off age. Either way, I had no desire to watch the perverted lust gleaming in his eyes as he touched me.

After patting me down, spending way too much time fondling my ass and cupping at my crotch for my liking, the guy backed off.

"He's clear, boss."

Ross nodded, seating himself on the garish couch again, a minute twitch of his cheek and the touch too cold an edge to his eye as he glared at his underling proved that he'd seen what I had in the guy and Ross liked it about as much as I did.

Bracing one booted foot against the battered coffee table, Ross poured out two shots of tequila. "Sit." His voice boomed and I found myself obeying without question. Perching on the opposing and equally garish armchair, I watched him hesitantly as he studied me, holding his eye in a challenging stare out. I looked away first and he 'tched' once before pushing one of the glasses toward me.

"I don't think I caught your name kid."

I picked up the glass, studied it and held it beneath my nose and sniffed. The alcohol burned a path along my nasal passages before splitting in two, irritating my throat and bringing tears behind my eyes. "That's because I didn't offer it."

The moment of silence stretched as Ross downed his shot before speaking again. "You know, that moment of silence was a hint towards a chance to rectify your rudeness."

I smirked and tipped my head back, emptying my own class of the colourless liquid, thankfully without coughing. "I know." I said. "But I still decline the invitation."

Ross's eyes narrowed and a ripple in the taut flesh and muscle of his wide shoulders alerted me to the possibility of an attack. I placed my glass down as he leaned forward, fingers digging into the seat cushion and his weight gathered on the balls of his feet.

I mimicked his stance, moving so that I could leap clear should he decide to lunge at me, my eyes darting and taking in every twitch. After a few moments I realize that Ross is smiling. "You got some big balls for such a little boy."

I snorted and grinned a not quite so friendly grin. "Your underling certainly seemed impressed while he was molesting me. I was slightly concerned that he might decide to jerk me off right there and then. Tell me, is that common practice here?"

Ross's lips twitched downwards momentarily and ice touched his eyes, but he stepped over my remark. "So, this information of yours. I'm guessing you came by it on accident? Auctioning it off to the highest bidder, right? Pretty risky, coming all the way into mob territory."

I leaned back, spreading my arms along the back of the tacky armchair, my lips retaining my feral grin. "Risky? My means of obtaining said information was 'risky' in itself. Approaching you with it is bordering on the suicidal. However, nothing ventured, nothing gained."

The mountain of a man shifted and picked up the tequila bottle again, moving to refill both our glasses. I grin. I can taste his plan as prominently as I can still taste the previous shot lingering on my tongue.

Get me drunk, bleed me for my information, and then pump a bullet through my brain.

"But you're right of course. Everything comes with a price tag. I'm not about to feed you some bullshit about there not being anything that I want."

Ross smirked and pushed my glass to me. "Ah. So we finally arrive at the point of purchase. What is your fee for it then?"

I pick up the glass and bring it to my lip, with no intention of actually drinking it. "I want in. initiate me into your group,"

Ross spluttered on his drink, eyes streaming with mirth. "You?!" He manages to splutter. "I have girls working the streets who look manlier than you!"

I grit my teeth against the sting in Ross's remark. The barb hit home and hit deep but I forced myself to remain pleasant, turning my bared teeth into a disappointed smile.

Pushing the shot glass aside and standing, I brush down non-existent creases in my leather. "If my information holds no interest to you then I shall take my leave."

Predictably several safety catches snapped off of assorted weapons, my eyes darting and identifying each one in turn.

"Now, now." Ross scolds me like I'm a misbehaving child. "Let's not make any hasty decisions. You want in, I want that group gone. Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement."

I sit again. "And what kind of arrangement do you have in mind?"

Ross's lips pulled back into a grin that I wasn't comfortable with, a predatory grin that set my teeth on edge. Then he gestured for Mr. Cop-a-feel to join us.

The guy fairly scampered over in delight while Ross gestured for him to bend down, the guy's eyes examined my form beneath my leather, stripping me with his eyes as Ross murmured his instructions. I curled my lip in disgust. I hope this wasn't headed the way I thought it was…

Then the guy turned over a handgun. Which Ross, in turn, pulled my attention to as he clunked the gun onto the table and slid it over to me. My attention immediately fell upon the weapon.

It was beautiful.

Intricate and exaggerated details carved into the metal and along the mother-of-pearl grip… I cocked my brow in confusion. "A gun? This is your offer?"

The man chuckled and shook his head. "Partly. I suggest a raid. And you're gonna head it."

My gaze fell back to the gun as it lay on its side in all of its grotesquely stunning and over-done design. Stretching out my hand, I tentatively drew it into my grasp. Ross smirked at my bewildered expression. "You pull this off kid, and I'll welcome you as one of us with open arms."

What the hell had I just gotten myself into..?

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**Ooooh. Two chapters (albeit one quite short one) in one day… I don't do things by halves do I. lol**_

_**Either I neglect you guys or I pamper you. But I was dying to at least get this part out. I'm working on the next part. I'm gonna show the actual war as it's a crucial turning point for Mello… yay for violence. I'm not too sure when the next chappy will be up but I promise to try and get it up by Sunday at the latest. I'm in my element with fights, I'm not amazing but I like writing them. Though I've never written a mafia fight… this could be interesting. Hold on to your hats folks… this is gonna get wild.**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Authors Note:**_

_I know I usually ramble on about things, trivial things, in these notes. But, this week I've not really been feeling myself. _

_I'm fed up with work, colleagues, clingy friends who insist on calling and texting me three times a day, mostly people as a whole to be honest… I'm not really much of a social person, and being forced for 6 days running to be in consistent contact with the general public has done little to boost my desire to be around people._

_So today… being Sunday and my one day off, I've become a social outcast, just painting and writing and generally being alone to concentrate on my projects. _

_Now, I was hoping that this chapter would be impressive after my ravings of it in the previous chapter, however I believe it falls short… but then again, I'm most likely being overtly critical of myself as per usual. Perhaps even more so due to my current moods… (I blame my diet) meh._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_Nope. Still not mine…_

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter. XVII**

The night pulled in around us quickly, and from where I was squatting I could hear the gunfire and shouts from the dying and injured men inside the warehouse far too clearly for my liking. Our first wave had already gone in, leaving just me, Ross and four of his more elite men waiting.

I shivered. I kept trying to tell myself that I was cold. Cold when the L.A nights never dropped into single digits. Sweat plunked into my eye and plastered my bangs to my skin… Okay, so I wasn't cold. I was scared. More than scared, I was terrified. There was a very good chance that I would die here tonight.

A sudden weight settled on my shoulder, I turned to see Ross grasping it in one of his huge paws, his sharp eyes boring into mine.

"Get it together kid." He rumbled. He'd seen my trembling and uneasy shifts. "Keep it under control. People like this can smell fear and will take out the weakest first. They'll take you out of the game without a second's hesitation."

I glared. "I'm fine!" I seethed at him, careful to control the quiver of anxiety in my voice. "You just worry about taking down the guy."

Ross cocked an amused brow at me. Not buying my act. I pushed myself to my feet and brushed my sweating palms against my thighs. I needed to move. All this waiting around… this wasn't my way. It smacked of Near. My brows tugged together. Even in my three year absence, I still felt as though I were trailing behind that albino brat…

Ross chuckled darkly, pulling me from my brooding's. "I'll pretend that I didn't just hear you issue me with an order. Don't go getting above your station kid. You aint even a lackey yet."

I scowled at the man and opened my mouth to snarl something when an outraged shout went up from inside the warehouse. Ross rose to his feet in a single easy motion. "Come on boys," He turned his focus to me. "It's show time."

I moved to raced ahead. My impulsiveness getting the better of me, over-riding my sense of self preservation when a strong hand gripped my elbow, holding me back. I swung around to face Ross who tugged me off balance slightly, letting the others run ahead.

"Not so fast kid. I got a special job for you."

When we finally entered the warehouse the stench of blood and death and gunfire overwhelmed me, I pulled up short and surveyed my surroundings. Corpses littered the floor, lain amidst a dark and slick crimson puddle. My stomach clenched painfully tight and my throat closed against a rush of bile. Ross veered to his right, headed towards the only two men who weren't fighting. The rival Mob Boss and his right hand man. "Keep up kid!" He hollered.

The man turned to see Ross bearing down on him and his face twisted into a mask of outrage. A sudden shout and gunshot rang out followed by a bullet slamming into the wall beside my head and spurring me into movement.

I ran toward Ross, my foot slipping as I raced through a concoction of blood and stomach bile from the poor bastard who lay on the floor, bleeding out from a gut shot. Ross had wanted me close for a reason, and I wanted to be close for protection. Upon reaching him and his rival I was surprised to find the two talking in a fairly civilized manner, considering there was a mob war currently taking place around them.

"You know how this works, Antaran." Ross was saying. "Honor Bound Challenge. You, me, in unarmed combat. No backup."

Antaran's eyes slid to me and his lips twisted up into a smirk, Ross's declaration falling onto deaf ears.

"No wonder you're up shit creek Ross. Taking in high school drop outs now?" He leaned in and leered at me, inspecting me like were an animal or a piece of meat. "Still, he looks pretty clean. Long legs, nice petite build, great ass and beautiful eyes. I have a few high standing clients who'd pay very good money for him." He glanced to Ross, whose face had tightened at the dismissal of his challenge. "Hand him over to me and we'll forget this whole 'uprising' mess every happened."

My lips curled back and a snarl clawed its way up my throat. "Try it, and I swear to you, I'll slit your throat while you're sleeping." I hissed at him.

The Antaran's icy eyes widened in surprise at my threat, and then the side of his mouth lifted in an outraged snarl. "Mouthy little shit aren't you?" Then he smirked. "No matter, soon put it to work and then you won't be nearly so cocky."

I returned his smirk, my eyes slitting in warning. "Put me to work and your clients won't be either."

Fury blazed behind his eyes and he moved in, hand raised, ready to backhand me across the face; I tensed but refused to flinch away. His hand came down…

… And Ross's came up to catch it, squeezing his wrist until his rival gasped in pain. "Enough! You heard what he had to say. He wants nothing to do with you or your queer clients. He's not a bargaining chip. You want him, then the usual rules apply. Kill me and whatever remains of my men goes to you by default. Until then, back off!" He shoved the guy backwards and shot me a warning look.

Antaran's lackey stepped forward, catching his boss as he staggered back, only to be shoved away with a snarl. "Don't fucking touch me! I don't need your help."

The underling recoiled, flinching under his boss's glare and sharp tongue. With his underling thoroughly berated, Antaran swung his glare back to me and then to Ross. "Fine! I accept your challenge. Unarmed combat."

He turned away and began unstrapping his holstered guns and handing them to his lackey, ignoring both me and Ross as he did so.

Ross followed suit, handing me his gun and various other weapons, including a thin bladed knife. As I leaned in to receive them he clapped a hand on my shoulder, bringing me close as he lowered his mouth to my ear. "Right, pay attention kid. This is how it works. The challenge is simple enough; two men go into the fight, one man comes out, unarmed combat and one-on-one. You and that jerk off over there are here to ensure that we comply to the rules, keeping it honorable. However, that does not mean that the other ref is going to play fair, so I need you to watch him as much as you watch Antaran and do what you have to should he pull anything. You understand me?" He gave my shoulder a sharp squeeze and I hissed my pained confirmation from between clenched teeth. "I need you in this kid, watch my back. You stand to lose almost as much as I do in this."

I nod and finger the engraved grip of my gun protruding from the laced front of my pants. "I get it. You lose and I spend the rest of my days as some rent boy." I lift my eyes and meet Ross's gaze. "Not in my best interest."

Ross gave a single firm nod. "I'm trusting you. Don't fuck it up." He began shedding his shirt and tie, removing any and all clothing that was restrictive or could be used against him.

Antaran had already stripped to his waist, he was busy limbering up, eyeballing Ross as he moved into position.

I took up my spot behind Ross, out of the way of the fight but close enough to watch for any telltale signs if Antaran or his guy tried anything funny.

Then the two men suddenly launched into battle. No warning, no circling, just Ross letting out a roar as he lunged at Antaran.

I can't detail the fight, mostly because my attention was split between watching Antaran and his designated referee, but partly because it would become fairly monotonous and repetitive with describing; lunge, grab, struggle, break, turn around and repeat.

Even though I wasn't really watching the fight, that didn't mean that I didn't see it, I caught snippets when my curiosity won out over my sense of duty. I saw the first blood being spilt, sheeting down from the split in Ross's brow, and the burst of crimson mist from Antaran as he snorted a breath through his nostrils.

Despite their differences in size, build and method of combat, the two men were evenly matched, almost trading blow for blow.

It was then, when I was distracted by the fight, that the other ref pulled his weapon.

Ross had just swung Antaran into a grapple where he could easily snap his neck or suffocate him. Gasps and gurgles drifted from the man's lips as he struggled to break away. I turned away, not wanting to actually witness the final moments of the struggle. And that's when a silver glint from the cross charm dangling from his wrist caught my eye as he raised his gun, training the muzzle on the wide and heaving expanse of Ross's back.

I felt torn. Despite Ross's pep-talk, I felt no loyalty toward the man. As far as I was concerned, he could rot. But at the moment he was useful to me. A ready supply of resources, income and manpower…

My fingers closed around the weapon in my waistband.

"Don't move!" I barked trying desperately to sound intimidating despite the fact that my voice wobbled and my heart was leaping around in my ribcage like a terrified rabbit caught in a snare. "Put the gun down!"

The other guy tilted his head toward me and smirks. "Pretty little toy you have there, Scrap. Know how to use it? I'll wager that you don't." He swung his gun arm at me, the grinning mouth of his weapon rooting me to the spot, the gun in my hand suddenly felt heavy. "One warning and one warning only Scrap, give back the toys and haul ass outta here. You're playing with the big boys now. Pull a gun on a mobster and you squeeze the trigger or have it squeezed on you. Choice is yours."

I grit my teeth in a vain attempt to keep them from chattering as I raise my other hand to cock the weapon, loading the chamber with a resounding 'click'.

He threw back his head and laughed. The sound grating my frayed nerves as my finger twitches on the trigger.

_Don't make me do this…_

Sweat beads on my forehead and glistens on my upper lip but I refuse to back down.

"Fine by me Scrap. The walls could do with a fresh coat of paint anyway." The humor drains from his face and a killing light glints in his eye as his finger pulls back on the trigger.

I squeeze my eyes shut as two simultaneous shots echoes around me…

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Pain explodes behind my eyes. A white blast emanating from my shoulder and I stagger backwards, recoiling from the noise. The whole left side of my body, from shoulder to hips sizzles and a jarring force ricochets through me from the kick back.

A moment or two passes and the burning eases.

I crack an eye and peer cautiously through my lashes to see the man crumple to his knees, his head bent back and fingers splayed, his gun dangling from his index.

Immediately my hand goes to my chest, my fingers moving over my torso, trying to locate the bullet hole that I'm convinced is there. I can't. There isn't one… The shots were mine.

The mans body suddenly flops forward, momentarily bringing his face into my line of vision. Burning a picture of grotesque horror into my mind, an image that I'd never shift no matter how hard I would try…

A gasp spills over my lips and my knees fold beneath me. Blood pours from the crater in the mans face, a crater where his right eye should have been. There's no eye now, just a hole spewing out red and grey as the ruined face slams to the ground, succumbing to the suggestive tug of gravity.

Crimson halo's the mans head and his splayed fingers twitch and spasm for a few moments before finally stilling.

_Oh God. What have I done? I've killed him… I'm a murderer…_

Something sharp and bitter races up my throat, filling my mouth, but I force myself to swallow. I remain on my hands and knees dry heaving and gulping down air until the burning returns to my left shoulder and I can feel something dribbling along the inside of my bicep. And as I inhale, a coppery scent tangs in the back of my throat.

I glanced down, I spot a neat little hole just above my armpit, pulsing blood.

I was hit. The second shot…

The shock from what I had done and the discovery of the bullet hole fades and the burning pain starts up again, more intense now. I instinctively clutch at my shoulder, blood still pumping over my fingers. I'm still on my knees, holding my shoulder when Ross appears at my side. Hand on my back, not moving but still reassuring none-the-less. "You okay kid?"

I nod and try to ignore the steady pat, pat, pat as my blood seeps over my fingers and dribbles onto the floor. Ross's hand moves on my back, lightly moving to my left shoulder and presses. White hot knives of pain lick along my neck and down my shoulder and I let a strangled cry burst from my lips.

"You got yourself pegged. Here, let me take a look." He pulls me to sit up; his eyes are softer as he studies my injury. "Probably nervous response as he died." He murmurs nodding at the corpse.

I know that there's no real concern in his expression but I take refuge in the small gesture. Until he presses around the opening. Blood jets and I can feel that there is something lodged inside me, being manipulated by the fingers working on my shoulder, both front and back.

"Hrk… What the hell-"

Ross tsk's at me and my whimpering and continues probing my shoulder. "Suck it up kid. There's no crying in Mafia games." He probes harder and the thing shifts, I let out a guttural cry. "There's no exit hole, so the bullet's still in you. Doesn't feel like it hit bone, just flesh, but that slug's gonna have to come out sooner or later."

I growl softly under my breath as he begins to work his thumb and forefinger under the lump in my flesh as he tried to worry the mangled bullet into the opening. "You're lucky that it's in a superficial area. Flesh wound, no internal damage except for muscle. Nice scar you'll have too." He chuckles and takes up the small switchblade that was left with his discarded clothing. "Your first badge of honor as an official Mafia member."

He pinches with his thumb and forefinger, preventing the bullet from retreating back into my flesh as he slides the tip of the knife into the opening and slices.

He gives a firm squeeze, ignoring my roar of pain as the battered slug pops into view. The metal tinkles melodiously to the ground as the bullet falls free.

He clamps my hand over the newly widened mouth of the wound. "Keep the pressure on it." He said as he stood, moving to the pile of Antaran's discarded clothing.

I crane my head, watching Ross as he rips up the sleeve from the shirt, then my gaze drifts to the body of Antaran. The man lay on his side, eyes bulging, tongue protruding and head lolling at an unnatural angle. I shudder and shift my attention back to Ross as he moves back to me.

He squats and begins twisting the torn material into a makeshift tourniquet around my shoulder then wraps the extra strips around my wound as a bandage. "That oughtta hold it until our 'medic' can stitch you up."

I struggle to my feet and nod before my gaze wanders back to the man I shot. The guilt I feel is immense and no matter how I try to reason with myself that I acted in self defense, my mind continues to chant at me;

_Murderer… murderer… murderer…_

Ross claps me gently on my uninjured shoulder as I stare at my victim and smirks. "You'll fit in well here with us kid. Cold-blooded, like the rest of us."

I bite back my retort and lower my gaze.

"Any items on him are yours kid. Weapons, jewelry, cash… yours for the taking."

I look up at Ross, horrified. Bad enough that I'd killed the man, but to then scavenge from his corpse like some bottom feeding mutt, my mind screamed its indignant reply…

I squared my shoulders, wincing against the pull of protest from my left. "My name's not 'kid', it's Mello." I declare as I move slowly away from Ross.

The man simply grunted.

Rolling the body over, I cringe at the sight of his face. The blood already darkening and taking on a more pungent odor as it hardens around the hole.

I cringe and reach out a hand to close the remaining eye, I could at least do him the dignity and show enough respect to give him that much.

I move to pull my hand away but my eyes catch something around the man's neck. I reach into the mans shirt and pull a rosary from beneath the collar…

As we leave the warehouse I fall back, letting these dangerous men, my new associates, pass me by so I can snatch a few last moments watching the building where I had lost the last scrap of my innocence, succumbing to the flames that had been ignited to keep the cops off our trail…

This is it. I can't go back now. I've fallen so far from that promising little boy who had everything, a family, a friend, and a mentor… Now I was slipping into a role that I had been trained to prevent.

"Hey."

I tilt my head over my shoulder to see that Ross has returned for me. "You okay Mello?" His tone has softened with me. He's not a complete bastard, though I still have no desire to become 'pally' with him. He's looking out for his informant, that's all I am to him. A weapon.

I nod and turn around to follow the group. "I'm fine." I say, my hand moving to my vest. A silver charm dangles from my wrist, as I tug on the crucifix that I have claimed as my own. Both taken from the body. A reminder of what I had done tonight.

I'm not religious, not really. I celebrated the main Christian holidays with the other children in both AppleGate and Wammy's, but that was all. But I knew enough of Christianity to pull a shaky connection between it and my actions.

Christ had his cross to bear… and now, I did too.

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**I know everyone else portrays Mello as this super religious guy… I however am in no way, shape or form religious, and I refuse to research too much into it. **_

_**I do not believe that it is up to me to jam religion down other people's throats (far too many people have attempted many ways to do so to me. From lecturing, to preaching, and some have even resorted to threats. I don't buy into it. Everyone should be allowed to draw their own conclusions without fear of oppression and ridicule.) **_

_**I am not implying, in anyway, that other authors are forcing religious teachings onto their readers, so please don't hate or flame me for my opinion. **_

_**I do, however recall parts of the faith from my childhood when I was forced by my primary school to embrace Christianity through hymns and monthly visits of this uber faithful Christian couple, and that is about all of my encounters with the faith. I feel by skating over and stepping around it, I avoid upsetting those who do follow the faith and hopefully maintaining a neutral portrayal in my fiction….**_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Authors Note:**_

_I'm baaaaack. Sorry for the long wait for this chappy but had some massive hardships with making it flow… almost wanted to scrap the whole story, (damned temperamental bitch that I am.) However, I have discovered a new way to help me smash through the writer's block other than simply whining and that is getting back into my painting and drawing. _

_I'm currently working on some commission based fan arts… one for my tattooist (a major L nerd) as well as for others… so I currently have three canvases with L, BB and Matt and Mello. As I said, the L one is going to my tattooist, a trade for some free ink as he doesn't like accepting gifts. The BB one also already has a home, and the Matt/Mello one will be looking for a home eventually as well. Pics of each will make it onto deviant art eventually… under the user name of nightelfy._

_Other random news that has happened to me in the last three weeks… um… I had one of my dermal anchors removed on Friday the 24__th__, which was an interesting procedure to undergo. It involved a scalpel and cutting… fun times. Anyone interested in watching a micro dermal insertion taking place I suggest you tube, but be forewarned… it looks very brutal. _

_Anyways, yeah I'm back and currently sporting my new geek wear Death Note shirt and am planning on buying my L cos-play pants. Do not fear if I don't up-date weekly I will do the best I can… just bear in mind that I do work 6 days a week and am currently trying to pump in as many hours as I can as I intend to hop across the pond and attend a convention in America next year… more on that as and when it unfolds… _

_And yes, I am aware that I mentioned the change of perspective in chapter 13 was a one time occurrence… however, no matter the effort and number of times I tried not to switch from Mello's perspective, I just could not manage to bend this to follow suit. So I'm afraid the switch has occurred… First person multi-chapter fictions are hard… especially if you have never done this before._

_**Disclaimer:**_

_I do not own it, but I like to play puppet master with the characters… *Dance puppets, dance for me. Mwah ha ha ha ha ha!*_

**Tramps Like Us, Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter. XVIII**

President Hoope peered over his clenched hands at the two figures standing in his office. Director Mason, head of the FBI, and a man that Hoope knew well and had dealings with in the past. A man, who as Hoope understood it, had worked with L on at least two separate cases and therefore his presence within his office set his nerves on edge.

Behind him stood a boy, or a young teen, pre-occupied with gazing at his surroundings like a bemused and curious toddler. Hand tugging at a shock of white curls that tumbled to the collar of what appeared to be some kind of dress shirt or overly starched pajama set, dark eyes peering in unashamed interest as he stared at the artwork and photographs that littered the walls.

Hoope rubbed his hand over his suddenly dry mouth. If Mason was here, and accompanied by an odd boy, whose mere presence was enough to force an unnatural stiffness into the mans shoulders, then chances were this meeting had something to do with L and the Kira investigation. His eyes dropped to the briefcase clutched in the Director's hand.

"What can I do for you Director Mason?" Hoope ventured. His eyes alternating from the doughy jowls of Mason, to the briefcase and then to the white back of the boy as he wandered away, finding a swivel chair and deeming that as a more interesting distraction than the conversation between the two older men.

Mason simply lifted the case onto Hoope's desk and attempted a wan smile. "I apologies for the urgency in this meeting. I understand just how busy a man such as yourself is. But this meeting is of great importance." Mason unclasped the locks of the case and spun the leather bound item to face the other man. "This is in regards to the Kira Investigation. My ward here has spent the last three years gathering this information in the hopes of ending the case. It has become something of an obsession for him. A matter of personal interest."

Hoope's eyes flitted to the boy as he clambered awkwardly onto the plush seat, feet tucking beneath him as he then investigated the armrests, prodding them with one elegant index finger.

"As you can see, the boy's research and data is extremely thorough and substantial. He has unearthed new and over-looked trails, all of which would be worth investigating. However, this poses something of a small problem. He does not yet possess the resources and manpower required for such a task. I am offering him the use of my five top agents, along with my own services, giving him a total of six FBI agents." Mason continued, drawing Hoope's focus back to himself. "However, as I am sure you realize, six agents are hardly enough for an investigation of this magnitude. The threat of Kira is slowly spreading to all corners of the world. The Japanese Taskforce can no longer contain it, yet their Director is far too proud and pig-headed to admit that they not only realize that this is beyond their limited resources, but that they accept it as well and require assistance. So my ward has put forward the idea of a second Investigation team. We humbly ask that you allow us the use of a dozen of your top CIA agents to add to our six."

Hoope's brows pulled down over his tired eyes. Frustration tugged at the frown lines that seemed permanently etched into his skin as of late. He felt so very stretched and burned out lately. The pressures of controlling the mounting hysteria over Kira, forever looming on the horizon ate at every fiber in his shattered nervous system…

… And now the boy's seat was making distracting and irritating 'parping' sounds as he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. Squatting then slouching. Huddled then lounging. Before settling for an almost semi-sit, one leg down and one up, his knee pulled into his chest.

For some reason Hoope felt his patience snap. "I don't recall asking you to sit, boy."

The white capped head shot up from peering at his white socked foot as it curled around the lip of the seat. Dark, almost black, eyes peered from the confines of a pale face, making the voids appear to burn beneath his curls, his thin lips pursed in a tight emotionless line.

Hoope's cheek trembled with annoyance and frustration… but from within his belly he felt a primal churning of unease, the sensation swiftly over taking his outrage. The boy's hooded stare dragged on. Intensity never easing and focus never wavering, his pauses between blinks could be timed to the minute.

Finally his lips parted and a tongue wet his lips before he spoke. "This is true. You did not. And I find that your lapse in basic hospitality very rude."

The voice was soft yet oddly commanding, and Hoope's brows shot up at the statement. The boy buried his hand into his curls, selected one to twist around his index finger.

Before he could regain his composure and dignity the President found himself snapping back. "And I find that your assumption of me even inviting you, a child, to stay an insult."

Mason, made a gesture for the President to stop his snappish comments as the boys hand stilled, trapped within the tangle of white, and his blazing chips of black ice returned to hold the man's gaze.

"May I ask you a question Sir?"

Hoope grunted a non-committal sound that the boy took as permission granted.

"I simply wish to ask you your opinion of the current state that we find our justice system has found itself in. Do you applaud or condemn Kira's brand of justice?"

Hoope frowned, insulted at the boys direct and cutting question. He slid a wary glance to Mason. "I do not applaud the actions of a murderer."

The boy nodded slowly and twisted his wrist once more, tightening the curl around his finger. "So we agree that something must be done to halt this mis-guided, self-proclaimed being of justice from taking anymore lives."

"Yes."

"However, you have done nothing to put your desires into motion, and have allowed the killer to continue with his ideals without protest. These actions are not those of someone who condemns this act, but more so of someone who is neutral. In addition to this, you also hesitate to assist me in my stand against Kira. Our whole justice and political system is built upon our sense of humanity and equality, a delicate balance. The moment that balance is disrupted, everything crumbles. I ask you, are you willing to sit idly by and allow everything to fall to ruin around you over one mis-guided fool?"

Hoope blinked sharply as the boy inclined his head away, his hand returning to his curls and an almost bored expression on his face.

He then turned to Mason and frowned. "Just who is this… this boy?"

The man's lips twisted into a pained smile. "Who is he? He's many things. He's a child. He's a genius. He's a detective. In fact you would be correct in saying that he is the heir to the L title."

Hoope slid his gaze to the boy. "L's heir? Then his being here, that would mean that L is…"

"That L is dead. That is correct. The current L that you have had dealings with is an imposter. A man who has simply assumed the title." The boy said softly. It was hard to tell, his face remained expressionless, but it almost sounded as though the boy was angry. "I believe that L was very close to identifying Kira and was killed to prevent that from happening. However that shifts a large amount of suspicion onto the group that L was working closely with. I believe Kira is in fact in league with, if not one of, the Japanese Taskforce."

Hoope laced his fingers together beneath his chin and raised his brows. "That's a mighty large assumption. I doubt the Japanese Taskforce would appreciate that sort of attention and accusation being drawn to them. Do you have any evidence to back that up?"

The boy's eyes shot back to the man's eyes, his head snapping around so sharply that the movement should have induced whiplash. "The role of the detective is to make such assumptions and leaps of faith, and then to seek out the evidence to support it. Without a theory how can one be sure that they are not actually overlooking important information? Evidence does not simply occur. It requires direction. Evidence does not lead to conclusions, conclusions lead to evidence."

His hand, buried deep in his snowy locks jerked suddenly and he winced, coming away with several strands knotted around his fingers.

Bringing them close to his face, the boy inspected the strands. "So, in answer to your question, no. I do not hold tangible evidence. However I do have intimate knowledge of the late detective L. I do know that he would have never exposed his face, nor that of his guardian, unless he was fairly certain he would have cornered his intended suspect. A wise man does not make himself known to his enemies, and I can assure you that the man took his safety very seriously. Therefore I feel that it is acceptable for me to assume that Kira is indeed linked to the members of the Taskforce."

Hoope sighed and pushed his hand through his graying hair before moving to pinch at the corners of his eyes. "You do understand what you are asking of us? People are understandably terrified of Kira and will be fearful of drawing his attention to themselves."

The boy simply nodded and plucked at his left cuff, his hands having to do something. "I do understand. And reasonable precautions will be taken to protect those who join our fight. But I must stress that this case has already claimed many lives, too many lives. And it shall claim many more before it is over. But it is essential, for the sake of humanity, that it is concluded and that the guilty party is suitably punished."

David Hoope, President of the United States, went very quiet for a long time before turning to Director Mason. "Very well. You have the support of the American people. I shall require twenty four hours to assemble a small group of trustworthy agents."

The boy nodded to himself and slithered from his seat, his skinny frame and hunched posture swamped by the folds of white as he shuffled toward the two men, hand still entwined in his curls. Hoope rose to his feet also and moved toward the teen, his hand proffered in a handshake.

The boy paused and gazed at the extended appendage before turning away, ignoring the man and shuffled towards the door. "Director Mason." Again the voice lacked emotion and fluctuating pitches, yet the tone of command was painfully evident.

Mason took a brief moment to shake the hand of his nation's President, gather the brief case from the desk before joining the teen and escorting him from the Oval Office.

* * *

"Hey. Hey, Boss." The voice grated on my already shot nerves as Naylor skidded into the den. "Boss, you gotta see this. The President has announced a new movement against Kira."

My fingers stilled over the keyboard.

Ross's head lifted from covering that of a young woman's, one of his harem of girls that seemed to have affixed themselves to him since he'd destroyed Antaran's mafia group. His prize from the battle.

"What?" He snarled, and glared at the rat like man.

I peered from the corner of my eye as the mountain of flesh turned his glare from Naylor and onto the back of my head. I was supposed to be planning our next strike in the underworld of gangs and drugs and whores. I was supposed to be picking out the targets and keeping us hidden. I was the gang's smart guy.

And right now, I was feeling pretty stupid.

"What the fuck have you been playing at over there Mello?" He roared at me. "You were supposed to be keeping tabs on anything that might cause us difficulties. Not jacking off over some pretty boys!"

My shoulders flinched as something crashed off to the side of me. Ross could get pretty nasty when interrupted with his girls. I sucked in a silent breath and turned in my seat. "A gay joke, Ross. Come on, you're better than that." I sneered back at him.

"You watch your fucking smart mouth boy! You aren't pulling your weight. You are meant to be on top of these things. If Kira start's looking toward America then we're fucked. We need information on this new group"

I leaned back arm dangling over the back of my seat, showing him the data on my monitor. Profiles of CIA and FBI agents dominated the screen. "And what the fuck do you think I've been doing? Aside from apparently jerking off over some red-headed guy?"

I inwardly flinched. Why a red-head? Immediately a face flashed up in my mind. Mussed up red tresses and green eyes that burned with hurt and betrayal. I shook my head.

Ross lumbered over to the monitor and squinted at the faces and names. "What is all this?" His temper seemed to be receding.

"This," I said and tapped my fingernails on the monitor. "Is the list of agents who are in this new little group."

Ross peered at me. "You hacked a government data-base?"

I nodded. You don't spend 6 years as a hacker's best friend without picking up a few tricks here and there. Granted Matty would have hacked the system faster, neater and more efficiently than I had. But Matt wasn't here…

I was and I had to make do. I was just thankful that I hadn't been caught.

Ross scrolled down and scanned the names and faces and short bios for each. A nasty smirk on his lips. "When will I learn not to doubt you kid?" He asked and clapped my shoulder. "You're always a step ahead and haven't steered us wrong yet."

"Yeah, well. You got a lot on your plate." I drawled tone bored as I shrugged and pointed to the monitor. "Pick a pawn Ross. Who do you want as a mole?"

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_**End Author's Note:**_

_**Right, first thing's first. Sorry about the delay. Sorry about the lack of quality to this chapter but I had absolutely no idea how to establish the SPK from Mello's point of view, hence the lots of Near. And the weak ending was not intentional… I was just trying to figure out how to slot Ill Ratt (the spy) into the story… which was what most of the little snippet of Mello POV was in aide of. **_

_**Also I went through my reviews and I think a few readers are expecting yaoi in later chapters. This isn't the case with this fic… This is a friendship based cannon and change of perspective piece. However, I am leaving little open innuendos for those who do want to see Matt/Mello yaoi. I shall allow you to draw your own conclusions from them. **_

_**However I WILL take a stumbling leap into yaoi in a different fic. Just not in this one… sorry guys.**_

_**Anyway's thanks for your patience for the update… hopefully it was worth the wait… Please read and review, and I swear there will be lots more Mello POV in the next fic… I want to get through the explosion bit cos I want to get Matty back into the story… I have some plans for him. **_


	19. Chapter 19

**Authors Note:**

I'm baaaaaack… Well, I've been back a while but working on other projects. I think I needed a short break from being inside Mello's head for so long. I needed a break away from first person perspective story telling. I think I just basically burned myself out with trying to work so many hours, update on a weekly basis, work on canvas paintings and my line work that had been so sorely neglected. I hope those who have been waiting for me to update this particular fic aren't too angry with me… I'm back and feeling fresh and ready to battle onward with this.

If you are interested in any of the other fictions that I have been working on they are titled 'Through the Fire and the Flames'- this is a mature, in progress multi-chapter het pairing between Halle and Mello…

And then there is 'Ja mata ne'- this is a one shot Near centric fic. An emotional piece written about the events during the Takada kidnapping and the aftermath of Mello's death.

A shameless bit of self-promoting I know, but meh… one does what one must.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own Death Note…

**Tramps Like Us Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter: IXX**

The new leather creaked and popped as I moved. Seams straining as my calves and knees filled them. I had found them, wrapped in tissue papers, propped atop of my comforter for me to find after I had showered.

Ross had obviously been flashing the plastic again. Showing his gratitude towards me for my part in his groups steady uprising and domination of the bowels of the criminal underworld. As much as I appreciated the gesture, leather is damned expensive and I refuse to cover myself in anything but Italian, I was beginning to feel as much the part of the rent boy that Antaran had dubbed me before his untimely death.

He was treating me like one of those cheap whores that he wore so proudly on his arm. An airhead who held nothing between her ears but the latest make-up tips or techniques on how to keep her breasts perky… Sating their insistent and irritating whining by waggling a shiny object in front of their man made noses.

Another long groaning pop and the treated animal hide slid halfway up my thighs. The intoxicating scent of the pants filled my nostrils. Lids fluttering shut, I basked in the aroma. It sounds insane but I swear you can tell leather quality by its scent. Good leather smells expensive. And these smelled like at least a $300 pair.

I wriggled and dragged the waistband over my hips, fastening the criss-crossing rawhide laces.

A rent boy.I grimaced at the very notion that my mind conjured as I straightened the matching belt and buckled myself behind a grinning silver skull. A rent boy who did not partake in salaciously indecent activities for profit and who would probably shoot the first to propose that he start. I shifted to gather my worn fitted leather vest and flinched. The new leather still fit a little 'too well' I decided as I gasp at the sharp pinches to my hip, thigh and groin.

Abandoning the vest for the moment I decide to concentrate on the pants. I had an appointment with Ross to keep, and to risk my leathers making 'farting' noises and creaking throughout the confrontation would do little more than undermine the severity of the situation. I squatted sharply, hand gripping the wooden bedpost for balance as I did so. Bouncing lightly on the balls of my bared feet I felt the low grumble in my left knee of an injury long since healed but not forgotten. It still made itself known, mostly when I least expected it, through a mere discomfort or to my acute awareness of a barely noticeable limp when I walked.

I straighten my knees and return to my full height, raising my arms above my head and closing my eyes before I slowly lean forwards. My fingers close around my ankles and I open my eyes just as the dizzying and unsettling notion of falling threatens to overwhelm my brain and my sense of balance. I'm bent at the waist, muscles and ligaments pulled taut and the satisfying sounds of vertebrae punctuating the sultry voice of supple leather in a medley of their own.

Fingers creeping down from my ankles I adjust my position until my palms lay flat to the floor. In a sudden and fleeting moment I feel as though someone is watching me. I try to shake off the uneasy notion and continue my stretching. Reassuring myself that the only man in this ragtag group of glorified thugs and dealers who had ever made my skin crawl was dead. He'd been shot during the raid and my initiation, I remember it clearly because I had slipped in a puddle of his stomach acids and tripped over his intestines during our escape. But still my instincts insisted that someone was watching me.

Paranoia is a demanding mistress and I am her willing servant. Fighting her only makes her angry and that much more insistent that I heed the warnings. Head snapping round I meet the cold gaze of a second pair of baby blues.

In seconds I am upright, hand bearing my gun and chest heaving as I face down the sneaky lurking bastard. And he mimics me, eyes wild and dangerous, slight tremor in his arm as anticipation and adrenaline sing through his nerves… mimicking everything right down to the bared heaving chest and the hand readying to load the chamber with the first bullet in the magazine…

My reflection

I snarl a sigh and lower my weapon. A god damned mirror. I spooked myself with my own reflection in an overly polished item of vanity.

I must have looked ridiculous, first prostrating myself in the middle of the floor, like some prissy actress in a skin flick, just begging to be reamed, to a snarling predator jumping at shadows and ready to put a bullet through his own head.

Burying my face in my palms, I back up until my heels hit the bed and I fall into the bunched up comforter and the piled up pillows. The springs groan under my sudden weight and the stored tension bounces my body up. Inhaling sharply I slide my hands over my face, feeling the tense muscles quivering beneath my fingers. Slowly my arms spread out either side and the breath whistles loudly through my nose. I was cracking up. The strain was too much. I was eighteen fucking years old and I felt I'd already lived a lifetime. Eighteen and I'm rapidly unravelling everything I had ever learned about right and wrong, good and evil. Battle lines were blurring and I couldn't even tell on what side I stood anymore.

I lay there for a few moments longer. Dwelling on this latest predicament that I found myself struggling with when the rumbling vibrations of my cell from the head of the bed. Without rolling over I reached a hand over my fanned strands of blond and groped blindly until my fingers closed around cold plastic.

Bringing the appliance to my face, I eyed the chipped handset, the cracked screen and the almost completely worn numbers on the keypad warily. I kept meaning to toss the bloody heap of crap out, but I couldn't. The cell was still my only connection to my past. In its contacts list, hidden behind passwords were numbers assigned simply to a letter.

And right now, flashing on the screen as the phone gave one final buzz, was the letter 'M'.

* * *

They say torture is a science. For it to be fully effective, first one must discover a balance, a formula. Use too little force and the captive can and will with hold the desired information through spite, use too much and the captive will simply give up and remain silent through despair. Find the balance and torture becomes an art form, your only limitations are your own imaginings. And Ross's boys had fine imaginations.

"They've been down there a while," Neylon said suddenly from the table behind me. "You suppose they killed him off before getting you in the room with them 'Mello'?"

I rolled my shoulders, easing the cramp from them as I reshuffled my papers, assessed the diagram once more before returning to wiring the plastic receiver in my hand. I wasn't listening and most of the other boys were busily playing some complex card game in the corner.

Neylon waited a few moments longer before moving. He rounded the couch that I had claimed and stood over me, hands on his hips, studying me with his beady little rat eyes. Still ignoring him, I leaned over my knees and switched the screwdriver in my hand for one on the coffee table and then settled back down to continue tinkering with the box in my hand.

I didn't notice Neylon's fingers twist the top sheet of paper to him until I heard a click echo above my head.

Slowly I slid my gaze up. Neylon held his gun out, pointing it at me, not for the first time. His eyes were wide and terror stricken…

"What the hell, Jack?" A voice demanded from the poker table.

Neylon watched me warily, grasping the top sheet between thumb and forefinger as he dangled it toward the group behind him. "No. Not 'what the hell, Jack' it's what the hell Mello?! The bastards planning on taking all of us out. Look!"

Suddenly the air was thick with a clashing din of chairs being kicked back and shouts both defending me and accusing me.

I calmly shifted in my seat and placed my project on the arm of the couch, folded my arms loosely over my stomach and waited for the hysterics to quieten to a dull roar.

"Whu- what is this Mello?" Skyar, a young Hispanic thug with dreads stammered at me as he lowered the paper. "It looks like some kind of trigger."

I shrug. "That's no coincidence. It looks like a trigger because that's what it is."

"See!" Neylon screeched, jabbing his gun at my chest as though it were an accusing finger. "He admits it. He's gonna wipe us all out, clear out our businesses and run. He played us all for a bunch of saps. A kid… a god-damned, mother fucking runt is gonna be the downfall of this group."

A strange look flits behind his eyes, desperation and panic fuelled by the drugs that he pumps into his blood every morning and evening. He thumbs back the hammer and raises the muzzle to my forehead.

"Not me…" he mutters. "No pretty boy, faggot's wet dream is gonna take me out! I'll spray the walls with him first."

His finger trembles on the trigger and I smirk.

"Just one thing, Neylon."

He raises his wild eyes to mine, chin trembling.

"If you plan on shooting me, I suggest that you take off the safety…"

His brows knit over his eyes and he shifts his focus from me and to the gun in his hand, lips twisting in confusion.

I twist in my seat, foot swinging up, aimed at his jaw. Neylon freezes, his inferior brain incapable of processing my sudden movement until the blow connects and he is hurled from his feet. His body crashes over an ottoman, breath whooshing from his lungs as his back hits the floor and my boot slams down onto his sternum.

I have no concerns of the others breaking up the fight. They will not interfere. There's no leniency, no mercy in mafia games. Neylon pulled his gun on me so now I returned the insult.

"Now, Jackie." I hiss, grinding down on my heel until he groans. Fingers closing around the grip protruding from my waistband. "I want you to listen and I want you to listen well. I have this little problem with your attitude. You see, I'm tired of it. Tired of your constant sneaking and spying and the like. Tired of being the centre of every paranoid scenario that you doped up little mind conceives. Yes, I am building a trigger device, I have also concocted and built explosives that line every wall in this place."

A sharp gasp interrupts me and I raise a glare to one of the other men. Jose.

"Merely a precaution, Jose." I snarl before returning my gaze to Neylon squirming under my foot. Again I press down and again he yelps. "You're not listening Jackie." I point my gun to his forehead. "That's very rude. Especially since I'm the one holding the gun now."

Neylon wheezes a laugh beneath my foot. I can feel the vibrations humming along my calf. "It-it's not loaded. Y-you wouldn't carry a loaded gun in here, Ross would…"

The shot rang, loud and clear. Silencing the room with its thunder.

"Now, if we are all finished with the interruptions. The explosives are merely precautions. Ross and I decided that they were a necessary part of the plan."

Neylon lowered his fists from his face, terror sweat beading upon his brow. "P-plan? What plan?"

A vibration buzzed through my ribs. Pausing, I glance down to my vest pocket and fish a cell from its depths, trapping the device between my ear and shoulder as I inspect my gun and eject the magazine, which I shove into a rear pocket.

"You're late Y320," I glare down at Neylon and push my weight onto the ball of my foot before moving away. "No, I'm not interested in excuses. You are being paid handsomely for your services and I expect you to at least honour your part of the agreement. If you do not, well, I'm sure you understand the term 'expendable'."

I sit back down on the couch, my pistol dangling from my index finger threaded through the trigger guard. The metal should have cooled enough by now for me to holster it in my waistband once again but I'm hesitant to risk it. Placing it on the cushion beside me I lean forwards and collect a bar of chocolate from the table.

"It's confirmed then? The Taskforce is operating away from the NPA and they have possession of the notebook. And as you seem to know an exceptional amount of details, I assume _**he **_also shares this information."

The door clicks open and I glance up, standing at the doorway of the room is Ross. He catches my eye and nods. He's ready to begin our appointment.

"I must say, I'm disappointed in your efforts thus far, Y320. You are a member of the SPK, yet you can offer little to no information of Near's plans."

Y320, CIA Agent Ratt, gibbers further apologies as I stand and move toward Ross, following him from the room and down a corridor as he leads me to the stairwell that descends into the very bowels of the building. My boots ring out each step I take down the metal staircase.

"I haven't time for this. Gather more information and contact me again soon."

I terminated the call and pocketed the cell.

"Not good news I'm assuming?" Ross grumbles.

"Nothing new, if that's what you mean."

We walk a few more feet in silence. Echoing from the end of the corridor, pained gasps and rough voices echo from the iron walls, tinny and whining like disembodied souls. My flesh sends a path of goose bumps along my collar. Ross discreetly glances over his shoulder at me, he thinks I miss the expression in his hooded gaze but I don't.

He's nervous. And I don't blame him.

His paw closes around the doorknob of the barrier that bars the worst of the shouts and groans from us, but he does not open it. He swallows thickly and tilts his head over his shoulder at me.

"Mello. I have trusted you since you first strolled into my group. I have shown you our ways and I have never doubted your decisions." He paused and drew a shaky breath. "But, taking on Kira. Are you sure you're not simply leading me and my men to our deaths?"

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "This plan is not without risks Ross. Same as your chosen path is a minefield. You risk it all for the chance of holding the ultimate weapon in your hands. A killing tool that requires no exposure to your enemies in order to cripple and destroy them. With it, the whole of the world's illegal trade will belong to you. Money and power. Is that not what you want?"

Ross said nothing for a moment. His fingers loosely grasping the knob. And then he squared his shoulders and pushed open the door.

* * *

**End Author's Note:**

Hooookay… still really struggled with this chapter, but I kind of just wanna push through these next few chapters and get back to easier and more familiar grounds. I'm setting up for the pivotal points and trying to have Mello starting to break a little, the way I saw he progress in the anime.

So bear with me, I promise it will get better.


	20. Chapter 20

**Authors Note:**

And after yet another lengthy absence I am back.

This time the absences have been slightly selfish. I had my first Anime Convention Adventure back in May, which also included my first solo adventure in travelling to Idaho USA to attend said Convention. I met my now girlfriend and fellow author, Raven Ehtar, in person for the first time. (Probably mentioned that fact before but in case I hadn't.) I then returned to the US in September to spend more time with my honey, and then there was the fact I was busy beta-ing Raven's long-running BB fic, 'What's My Name?' and I chose to pour my efforts into that rather than split my focus (those who have read this fic will understand why I focused my efforts, and those who haven't… GO READ! After this.)

**Disclaimer: **

I do not own Death Note…

**Musical Influence:**

A Perfect Circle; The Noose

* * *

**Tramps Like Us Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter: XX**

Trapped…

'_It's all over Mello!'_

Cornered…

'_Drop the switch!'_

No choice. I had to…

I braced my shoulder against the blockade and strained. Nothing. It didn't shift even an inch. A sound suspiciously akin to a defeated whimper rattled up from my chest, rasping and grating against my dried out windpipe, and hot on its trail came a burst of rib jolting coughs.

I couldn't stand, caught between a roaring fireball from my homemade explosives and the rear wall of the fallout room and with no time to throw the reinforced door shut, I'd hurled myself beneath the sturdiest piece of equipment I could find and burrowed as far back as my wiry frame would allow.

Or so I had planned.

I had gotten beneath the item in question, a control panel of some sort, one we had shifted when we'd first 'acquired' this building, and I had managed to burrow into the furthest corner of the leg space it offered. However, somewhere between the running and hurling something had exploded behind me, the shockwaves so powerful that they had ripped the reinforced door from its hinges and added an extra kick to my dive, slamming me into the back panel of the leg space and robbing me of consciousness.

And that was where I found myself now. On my hands and knees beneath an obsolete hunk of junk, head pounding and senses disorientated, my coughing raking at my already torn up throat and sending up small clouds of debris into my face and causing the cycle to begin again.

I couldn't see. The darkness so deep that I couldn't tell whether or not my eyes were actually open, which is disconcerting enough alone, but coupled with the fact that my entire body throbbed yet was numbed, it made me nauseous.

Frustration gnawed at my gut. I was trapped. Trapped by my own cockiness and stupidity. I slammed my open palm against whatever was blocking my escape, a jolt of pain ripped through my wrist as reward of my anger but nothing else. Whatever was blocking me in, it needed more than aggression to shift.

I had to think. I had no idea what the blast had done to my surroundings, no idea what had shifted or weakened so I needed to be careful.

Taking a sharp inhale through my nose I coughed again. The air was hot, and thick with crap thrown up from the blast. But I had to ignore that; I had to clear my mind and think, distance myself from the instincts that I had relied on for so long. Fury bubbled in my chest, and fear pricked at the back of my mind. I had to get out, I knew this, but my instincts screamed so loudly at me to run, to survive, that my logical thoughts were shunted aside and buried under panic. Stay here, beneath this metal structure and I may as well make my peace with God, the Devil or whatever sadistic bastard of a Deity that had lead me here and make this nook my tomb.

I twisted around awkwardly, shifting until my back was pressed against the blockade and my feet were braced against the back panel of the leg space.

'_M I H A E L K E E H L.'_

My cheek twitched even now. Yagami's voice seemed to boom, to echo in the deathly silence, calmly spelling my name as though he were merely confirming the pattern of letters for an unseen scribe etching them onto my death certificate. Spelling it for my executioner. Confirming that Kira was involved. That Kira was now targeting me.

'_Your real name. It's Mihael Keehl.'_

I could still see him, so clear in my mind, standing before me. A man facing down a child. Both clutching our weapons, his, the Note book and mine my bomb trigger. Both watching for the other to make their decision first, fight or flight. Yagami had won. He had bested me. Had he killed me, he could have gone home a hero. One battle won. Regroup and strategize against Kira. But he hadn't. Yagami had tried to reason, offered to spare me if I'd surrendered, offered mercy.

I had scoffed and rejected his mercy. Sneered at his trust in his men and their loyalty. And jeered that he was free of the guilt that I bore.

'_Tell me, Yagami. You've never killed a man before, have you?'_

I am out rightly responsible for one mans death, killed in self-defence. My sleep plagued by images of blood and gore and the smoking crater where my victims' eye should have been. Even then, I had never classed myself a criminal. Ross and his boys were the thugs, the criminals. I had been the brain, the planning man. I would tell him who was in our way and he would order their deaths. The little voice whispering suggestions to the brutish Mafia over-lord but never dirtying my hands in the participation of the executions.

Even now, in the darkness, I tried to convince myself of my innocence. Yagami was dead. But Jose had been the one to pull the trigger. Not me.

Neylon and Ross were the ones to decimate the SPK, who wiped out the Undercover American Task Force using the Note Book. Not me.

_Not me… Not me… Not me…_

Pain raced through my shoulders, punctuating the protesting voice of panic in my mind as I used myself to bludgeon the barrier.

'Not me… Not me… Not me!' My voice rasped in my throat and bounced around my head as I battered harder. My teeth grating as I braced my feet against my tombs metal wall and pushed.

I was a fool.

By playing spectator to scores of men's deaths, I had tarnished myself. In killing another man, even though he was himself a hardened killer I had taken that final step onto a path I had never dreamt I'd walk. I was a criminal. I was just as ruthless, just as driven as the men I had aligned myself with. My goals were just different. I didn't seek wealth, or consistent supplies of drugs and whores, I sought glory. I wanted, with every fibre of my being, to succeed where L had failed. I wanted to surpass what I was destined to be. I wanted to win.

Metal screeched as the barrier finally shifted. The darkness, penetrated by a lighter gloom, seemed to flee to the corners of my peripheral vision where the shadows remained. Groping the crack, my chest loosened as two fingers slipped through to the knuckle, and my breathing hitched as the other two followed. Bracing myself on my knees and with one hand acting as leverage, I pushed.

After a moments resistance the blockade lurched aside and I tumbled through the gap, hitting the scorched floorboards with a thump. Splinters and dust blasted my face as the initial slam set me coughing again. Each rasp tore at my throat and bounced off the ruined walls, echoing and booming in my ears, and the walls seemed to groan in reply. Eyes streaming and throat raw, I slammed my hands down and took off at a sprint.

My burst of energy lasted about three minutes, just long enough to get halfway across the ruined monitor room and for my right foot to come down on the outstretched and dismembered arm of Jose. My foot slid from the limb and I went down. Pain raced through my left knee, lightening flashed behind my eyes as the memory of tumbling from that damned tree outside my bedroom window flooded my mind.

'_Oh God! Mello!'_

I knew that voice. That shout. And I hoped that when I opened my eyes I'd see those glittering green orbs, swimming with tears, staring down at me, pleading for me to be okay.

I pried my lids apart to a dim haze. But there was no familiar green eyes peering at me, just a clump still smoking plaster mere inches from my nose. Gathering my limbs beneath me I wobbled to my feet and lurched toward the half collapsed door. Every step forward was agony, every obstacle swallowing too many minutes as I struggled over piles of rubble or crawled under fallen beams and squeezed through dilapidated tunnels that were once wide hallways.

I had no concept of time passing except for the steadily growing sense of dread curling heavily in my belly. The building's structure groaned and creaked irregularly, its skeleton weakening and dropping scorched clumps of plaster and timber at an alarming rate. I should have reached a recognizable pathway by now. A room that would throw up a mental floor plan in my brain of a path well trodden in my years spent here, but still I scurried and peered through the gloom as though I'd never walked these floors before.

Logically I knew that the blast would have damaged and shifted every room beyond my recognition, especially in this murky and smoke heavy air. Logically I knew that even though every slow and careful movement ensured my safety from tumbling through weakened floorboards or blast ruined staircases but there was a tiny voice in the back of my mind chanting at me, fuelling my fear. The same sneering little voice that had mocked me growing up in AppleGate.

Though now its weapon chilled my blood to ice pellets.

_If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of the subject's name, it will happen. After writing the cause of death, the details of the death should be entered within the next six minutes and 40 seconds. The conditions of death will not be realized unless they are physically possible for that human or could be reasonably assumed to be carried out by that human._

Kira was working with Yagami, or Yagami was working with Kira. Yagami had my name, spelled it out even. I doubted The Task Force were out of vocal communication with each other, and when they burst through the monitor room door there was a slight possibility that my face was glimpsed by the whole team.

_If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of the subject's name, it will happen. After writing the cause of death, the details of the death should be entered within the next six minutes and 40 seconds. The conditions of death will not be realized unless they are physically possible for that human or could be reasonably assumed to be carried out by that human._

Kira could control his victim up to his death. He was cooperating with the Task Force, they had my name, and they'd possibly seen my face. My heart hammered against my ribs. Was Kira manipulating one of the officers? Was he ensuring that all loose ends be neatly cut and tied by ensuring my death? He stood to lose nothing in having a Task Force member write my name, if I was alive he could be running me in circles like a rat in a maze until the chosen method of death claimed me. If I died in the blast or the structure collapsed before my limit was up then my manipulation would be little more than a fail-safe action.

I panicked. Spectres of Death, Shinigami were very, very real. And I doubted most were as pitiful as Sidoh. My panicking brain threw up images of great, clawed hands snatching at me from every deep shadow that I passed. Shinigami reaching out, trying to pluck me from the living world and spirit me to my death.

My flight instincts dominated every other impulse. I stopped testing floorboards and distressed staircases and just hurtled myself forward, shying from invisible enemies and horrors that I only saw in my mind. I threw so many unnecessarily wild twists and turns, despite the lancing pain shooting up and down my leg, that within minutes sweat trickled from my temples and my pace slowed to a dragging limp.

And then, as I was trying to move as quickly as I could down a flight of stairs, the floor beneath me lurched and groaned and vanished beneath me. My lower half dangled in the yawing chasm that tried to swallow me, my left arm jammed through a post in the hand rail barely stopping me from plummeting God only knows how far to the storey below. I kicked wildly in the air, trying to build enough momentum to swing myself up, but I just couldn't.

My body felt like lead and I couldn't think anymore. Panic had given way to burning pain. The whole of my left side throbbed and for the first time I realized that I couldn't see through one eye. Pressing my cheek to the step, the last tether I had stopping me from plummeting into shadow, eye closing, I was slowly succumbing to the exhaustion and despair that I had battled so hard.

It would be so easy to simply let go…

A few moments dragged by before I realized that the hairs prickled on the back of my neck and I had the unsettling notion of someone watching me. Cracking one eye, I peered through the gloom and if it weren't for the fact that my elbow was bent around the handrail spoke I'd have probably fallen into the void simply from the shock of what I could see.

Green. Twin pools of emerald either side of a narrow nose and a spattering of barely visible freckles.

Licking my dried and cracked lips I croaked feebly. 'Ma.. hatt?'

The face pulled back, shadow falling over one side again and the mouth twitched into a small sad smile.

'_I can't…'_

The face drew close again. So close, that there was no doubt. Golden lenses held muddy red tresses from a pale forehead. He looked younger than he should, still the thirteen-year-old boy I'd walked away from. His lips parted and formed silent words, a hand reached and he beckoned for me to pull myself up and follow him.

My muscles tensed and bunched and screamed as I managed to drag myself a centimetre higher before they slackened. Shaking my head I dropped my chin onto the step again and tried to mumble. _'I can't… I can't get out. Kira…'_

His brows furrowed and nostrils flared in a defiant snort, almost as though he wouldn't accept my inability to climb out of the pit. Like I wasn't trying hard enough.

A dismal wail rushed from along the hall behind me, blasting my hair forward. The building was weakening. His eyes widened at the sound. Shuffling closer he mimed grabbing me and pulling, frustration drew his mouth down as he realized that he could do nothing to help, so he settled for wild gesturing, pleading that I try and follow him.

Again I shook my head and this time he went wild, stamping his feet noiselessly, shouting wordless curses and desperate encouragement. Waving his arms so hard that he almost seemed to be hitting himself in the chest.

I closed my eye and reached my right hand into a rear pocket, fingers closing around something cold and smooth, and I pulled out an old battered cell.

He stopped his flailing and cocked his head curiously as I tapped a short sequence on the battered keypad, the poor lighting no hindrance. I knew this code by heart. How many times I had typed it then, in a stab of sudden shame, exited from the screen. I couldn't, not after our parting…

A scraping sound echoed above my head, drowning out the distorted ringing, as something large shifted.

'Hello?'

It was deeper than I had been expecting, my heart jammed in my throat at the voice, and my throat constricted painfully.

'Hello.' He sounded tired and frustrated.

'Matt…'

Silence buzzed along the line, heavy and tense. And then, a shaky. 'M… Mello?'

I peered up at the darkness that now filled the space where I'd imagined my friend standing only moments before, encouraging me to move. For years I'd struggled with what I would say to him if I ever had the gall to answer his calls or make my own. For years I'd tortured myself reliving that day when I left him, sniffling and wiping his running nose on his sleeve after we'd fought. The day I chose to turn my back on the only friend who had stood by me from the first time we'd met and I'd made him piss his pants, to the day I'd told him our friendship was merely for convenience.

How could I make up for that kind of betrayal?

Something cracked overhead and smashed through the stairs, ripping the structure into pieces and hurtling me into darkness. And the last thing I heard was my own voice quavering.

'I fucked up.'

* * *

**End Author's Note:**

I'm a stinker ain't I? Long absence then a cliffhanger. :3


	21. Chapter 21

**Authors Note;**

Cue fanfares. Finally a new chapter published. I know I keep promising to be better with the updates on this, and each time I fail miserably. I apologize for that fact and express my deepest gratitude to those who have loyally stuck it out and are so patient in waiting for my erratic updates. I have had this sitting, since the last update, in pieces and scattered throughout the depths of my computer documents and two old cell phone handsets, and had no pocket Near handy to assemble the puzzle for me. (There were also two variation drafts of one scene spread over three notebooks. -_-;;)

All I can say is I am sorry for the delay and to summerize: you guys are tops, I'm a bad author-type-lady-thing, and next chapter is in process.

**Disclaimer:**

Death Note and all it's characters and their likeness, belong to their respective owners… I own the grovelling apology, the computer this is written on and this packet of fruit pastilles.

* * *

**Tramps Like Us Were Born To Run.**

**Chapter XXI**

I awoke sharply. No gentle rising back to consciousness. No gradual, seeping awareness. Everything hit all at once, like a sensory freight train, smashing through every blockade that my brain had thrown up in the name of self-preservation. The pain and burning jolted and seared. Thunder roared in my skull, pain lanced my nerve endings and I couldn't move.

I just couldn't move.

Nothing responded. I willed my fingers to curl. Pleaded for my eyes to blink. Mentally screaming the commands to twitch, flicker. Something. Anything.

I tried to shout. To bellow my frustration at my mangled, incompetent shell, but I couldn't. To scream the agonies I was drowning in as flames licked and lanced me, but I remained completely mute.

I was forming the words; I could see them there in my mind, drifting and floating like dandelion wisps caught in a breeze, but I couldn't reach them. Desperate breaths trumpeted in my ears, adding to the din threatening to split my skull apart.

This was Hell. It had to be. I couldn't move, I couldn't scream, but my active and conscious mind was trapped inside my broken body. Nightmares of this exact content plagued my dreams from a toddler's age and tortured my psyche more than any imaginings of monsters or death.

The fall had crippled and the flames consumed, and yet I did not die. That was the point of Eternal Damnation, to destroy what death left behind, to shred the soul.

And then there was the noise. The terrible continuous pounding had so many voices, so many levels, each taking a turn to head the pack and wrench my ragged sanity just that little bit further, to strain my tattered nerves that little bit more.

_"It is difficult, isn't it?"_

_"You certainly do seem to seek out mischief don't you?"_

"But heroes get hurt. Hero's die all too swiftly and are forgotten by their admirers just as fast."

I know these voices, so familiar and yet I can't place them, can't picture the faces that they belonged to. They're simply lost in a broiling sea of white noise.

_"As it stands, however, you are adamant that I am out of the ordinary in an orphanage filled with exceptional children and it un-nerves you that perhaps you are not as exceptional as you first thought."_

_"My, what a bright boy you are."_

_"What on Earth..! Do you have any idea what you have done?"_

And bubbling below the choir is one that catches more easily than the others. The half whispers more deafening than the shouts. Weaving its way through the others, dodging the spattering of death cries and gunfire and shouts, determined to deliver its message, its painful half memory.

"Don't you care? Don't you give a shit about yourself? About me? You wouldn't last three days out there on your own. You're a tough kid. But not as tough as you think, the first psycho who stumbles on you and you're toast."

"If you truly believe that and think that everything we ever had was fake, then go. Walk out of those gates and don't look back. Go on. I won't follow you."

The words were so hurt, desperate, another person who's life I'd torn apart in one-way or another. Just another twist of the noose that I'd placed around my own neck.

Something flickered somewhere above my head, so fast that my mind almost missed it. A spark. A tiny wavering light, like a match struck in the inky blackness, so delicate that I sucked back the half expelled breath in fear it would extinguish the glimmer. A hallucination? It had to be. But it gave me a focus point. A tether to cling to as I recollected my scattered thoughts and fragmented psyche. And once I had those, I could fight this.

I lay there watching the golden light dance and bob, grow and fade, like it were a living entity. I used it to gauge my position, judge space and as it skimmed over dark shapes, I mapped the landscape surrounding me.

As my mind churned through the mental fog and silenced the din, my vision chased the light in its play as other senses slowly began kicking in. I was upside down or pinned on my back, I could smell smoking dirt and thick choking air, its heat scorching my nostrils with each inhale while each exhale soothed. The agony that had first roused me had dissolved into little more than a heavy pulsing that mimicked a heartbeat.

I watched the golden light expand as it made a wide arcing sweep a scant few meters away and something in my mind clicked into place.

I took a deep breath, lungs filling and pressing my ribcage out until my chest hit a wall, the rushing sound of hot air roaring in my ears. The dead had no heartbeat and the dead did not need to breathe; yet I had both.

I smiled. At least, I did in my mind, whether my muscles responded and mirrored the mental expression I can't say. But I'd like to think that I was smiling as the golden orb fell over my face, and the air around me boomed. I hope I was smiling as I snatched a glimpse of a shadow falling over me, and the booming softened into heavily distorted echoes, like a voice heard underwater. I pray I was smiling as I faded back into darkness.

* * *

This time when I awoke it was gradual. I heard the faint humming drone of an engine, felt the vibrations of wheels moving fast beneath me, carrying me further away from the search teams that were probably scouring the debris of the hideout for corpses, mine included.

If I'm to trust the muddled messages relayed to my mind, I was laying in the recovery position on something smooth and pleasantly cooling. This time, when I instruct my body to move, it responds. Albeit, every movement I make is brutally slow and costs far more effort than it should but the thrill of success floods my brain in a heady rush of adrenaline.

My focus ebbs and flows, sometimes sharp and crystal clear, others as though I'm staring through tear filled eyes, but the simple movement of balling a loose fist in front of my nose fills me with hope. I survived.

I inhale slowly, old leather, damp clothing and smoke, a cocktail of scents for my muddled brain to pick apart and match to what I was seeing.

Worn tan leather seats, the kind commonly found making up the interiors of classic cars, dominants my vision as I stare blankly at back of the passenger side seat, its pocket stuffed with maps and empty take out packaging. My gaze drops to the floor and I'm greeted with the sight of more take out garbage, empty cups, bottles, salt packets and a crumpled burger wrap or two complete with dried out pickle slices.

I shift uncomfortably, closing my eyes and trying to stretch the burning itch of cramp from my legs only to mentally whimper and pull back.

"You awake then?"

I grumble at the voice and squirm, the seat is damp, growing uncomfortable beneath me but the voice doesn't seem at all sympathetic to this, in fact, it sounds irritated with my sounds of complaint. I shuffle but move nowhere, achieving little more than simply spreading the cold wet feeling further up the length of my body and increasing my discomfort. It's clear that I am awake yet the voice makes no effort to repeat its question.

My nose wrinkles at the scent of smoke. It's different to the smoke that I have been exposed to, not as heavy but it tangs sweetly in my mouth, clinging to and coating my throat and nostrils with an unclean taste and a furry film. Tobacco smoke. Burying my face into the damp I close my eyes, feigning sleep, but I'm aware that the driver up front is studying me through the rear-view mirror. I can feel the gaze sweeping along my reflection, feel my skin tighten inch by inch until it's impossible to ignore.

"Ho…" I swallow painfully and try again. "H-hot."

Immediately the drone of traffic is louder, swept into the silence of the car on a wave of cool air from an open window and a long sharp blast of a well-timed horn.

"Better?"

The voice is still snappish and short and I mumble disapproving noises at it. Again the response is almost immediate, drowning the roars of engines and clashing songs from too loud radios, replaced with the soft humming sound of an air-conditioning unit starting up.

The car slowed for a red light, the purrs deepening to a rumble beneath me, and I chance a glimpse of my driver. Lifting my watery gaze I map my way up the three quarter profile my position grants me. Scruffy, multi-pocketed jeans under a contrasting black and white banded shirt and something that bounces against his chest. I travel further, pale skin, slightly smudged with grime and mussed up hair that appeared styled into that just-dragged-my-ass-out-of-bed look. Nothing screamed familiarity, bland clothing, average build, but something nagged in the back of my mind.

So I blinked hard and refocused my vision and mind, trying to pick out features. His hair looked brown, red-brown, but definitely more brown than red. Smooth, clean lines made up his face, no sharp overly masculine features. A pretty boy, but I still can't quite figure out the insistent gnawing that I knew him.

He shifts in his seat, one hand leaving the wheel to kneed at the dip in his shoulder before he turns his head away from me to glance out his window. "Still breathing back there?"

I snort. Hopefully he catches the hint of annoyance behind it.

"Figured it out yet, or do you want a few more miles?"

Again I make a non-committal noise. The bastard was toying with me. My struggles were nothing more than a game to him. I close my eyes and grunt as I stretch my neck along the damp. The light must have changed to amber because the engine sound changes to a straining whine. I open my eyes to peer at him again and resume my silent profile study and find my breath catching in my throat and my heart slamming into my ribs.

He's staring at me. Full in the face, fury blazing behind green eyes that I knew so damn well. Eyes that I thought I'd never see again.

We stayed like that a few moments. Me, lying pinned beneath his glare like a rabbit in headlights, staring up in bewilderment, until a long angry horn blared behind us.

Matt's eyes flicked up, lips curling around an unlit cigarette into a grimace that he directed through the rear window at the obviously irate driver tailing us. A second blast and he swivelled back round mumbling 'yeah, yeah, I hear ya', and shifted into drive.

Minutes passed and we drove in silence. Even if I knew what to say, I couldn't, I was horribly dehydrated and my throat felt raw from smoke inhalation. And then, of course, Matt was angry so I doubted small talk was a high priority for him.

The car slows again and the rhythmic 'tick-tick-tick' of the indicator signal breaks up the heavy atmosphere. The car turns, the engine suddenly rumbles and lurches with acceleration as it leaves residential roads and joins the stampede of the freeway. Matt's shoulders loosen and he settles back, clearly more settled with swifter travel away from prying eyes. With my driver relaxed, I relax and close my eyes.

I must have drifted off into a doze for a few minutes, just long enough for Matt to think that I was deeply asleep and that he was alone in the waking world.

"What happened to you, Mel?" He murmured and my chest constricted. He sounded so small, lost and broken. He sounded so much like the boy who'd actually thrown a punch at me, with tears streaming down his cheeks, desperately trying to stop me from leaving.

"You have no idea what you've done to me, do you? How scared I've been. Digging for information, waiting for a corpse to be dragged out and displayed on T.V for the world to see. A nameless face to the mass population, a 'poor soul', but not to me. I waited for you. Almost six years I waited, and all for nothing. I was so ready to bury you, to move on, but then you called."

As I lay there, listening, he spoke unhindered. I'd struggled and worked my way out of the Hell that I'd put myself in when I left Wammy's House, I'd worked my way through my grief at losing L, my home and my only friend. I knew Matt was safe and so I could shove him out of my mind and focus on the task I had appointed myself.

But Matt..?

Matt hadn't. He couldn't. I had cut my ties to him the first night I spent on the street, Matt had still hoped I'd come home, soggy and feeling sorry for myself, my tail between my legs. How long had he sat there, in our shared dorm, on either his bed or mine and stared out that window waiting for me?

My gut clenched so hard that I gasped. Matt's gaze flickered up to the rear-view mirror just as my lids slammed shut. I mentally counted to thirty, paused and debated cracking a lid before deciding against it and counted another thirty.

He was staring ahead again, navigating a maze of back streets. I couldn't remember leaving the freeway; maybe I had dozed for longer than I'd first thought.

"There's a bottle of water on the floor. Sip it so you don't puke all over the place."

I cringed. He hadn't bought my fake sleeping and sounded irritated that I had apparently eavesdropped on him while his defences were down. Inching forward, I peered over the lip of the back seat in time to see a half full bottle roll underneath the passengers seat only to reappear a few moments later, chasing a loose battery across the floor toward me.

Reaching for the bottle was an unsettling moment. I felt clumsy and uncoordinated, my hand thumping to the floor unceremoniously and a faint wobble where I thought I might over balance and topple from the seat. It took a moment or two of fumbling before I managed to hoist the slippery, skittering bottle onto the seat with me and another minute to steel myself into opening the cap with my teeth.

When the first mouthful of water hit my throat I swallowed with no problems. The second, I gagged, more from the sudden shock of something trying to trickle past my tongue faster than expected than the stale taste. The third, only half I managed to swallow before a coughing fit seized me, my body reacting to the re-hydration it so sorely needed but I was insisting on pumping it far too quickly into a body trapped in starvation mode. My throat rasped, my head spun, and my stomach churned and pulsed sending dry heaves through me. It was rejecting.

"Shit!"

I vaguely heard Matt's cuss, but I was more tuned to the fact that the water bottle had slipped from my fingers and my head had dropped to the seat as my muscles spasmed. My stomach pulsing so hard that bile and acid had made its way into my throat and was dribbling down my chin, mixing with the water there. I heard a click and a whirr and a yelp as Matt unbuckled his seatbelt, felt his hand go to my shoulder, fingers digging in as he steadied me on my side.

"Mel's? Mello!" His face looms over mine, panic chasing away that hardened edge to the green of his eyes. "Listen to me. You need to slow your breathing down, that'll stop the coughing."

I'm gasping now, like a fish out of water, struggling to breathe. My lungs burn and my ribs ache right through to my spine but something else kicks in, a worse feeling. I'm burning. I feel as though I'm on fire. My coughs turn to gurgling cries as a heat sweeps along my left side and settles in a molten pool on my face.

Agony rips a shrill sound from my throat and I press myself harder into the damp cloth that I'm laying on, grinding my cheek into the moisture now warmish in temperature from my own body heat. I can feel my skin tearing, but I continue my attempts to bury my face into the seat, desperately trying to smother the burning.

"Christ, you're…" Matt squeezes himself into the gap between the seats so he can reach me properly. "Mello, listen to me and focus! You need to calm down, you're going to shred your face."

I hear him and I understand but panic and pain has the unfortunate talent to reduce even the sharpest mind to mush. I can feel it, the lumps of flesh coming free from my cheek, I even caught glimpses of dark, soot clogged blood and sticky clear fluid smearing the blanket beneath me and still I grind and writhe in a desperate attempt to stop or, at least, soothe the pain.

"Don't you do this to me! Don't you dare, you hear me?" Matt's voice is almost as shrill as mine as his hand clamps my shoulder, nails popping through the skin. "I came when you called! I dug you out! I didn't do it just so you could bite the bullet on my backseat! You made my teen years a misery so you'd damn well better stay alive long enough for me to knock your teeth in!"

My body convulses in on itself, drawing all extremities and appendages to its core as something swells behind my ribs and a rushing roar of white noise that drowns out half of what Matt screamed at me. And then, as a wave of cold and wetness envelops me, my coiled body slackens. My limbs burst to their full length, the muscles screaming their agonies as the build up behind my ribs rushes up along my throat in a long and mournful cry.

Finally my raw throat surrenders and pain exhaustion creeps through my limbs, chilling the ravaged nerves and numbing my stricken mind. I vaguely feel something settle over me, heavy but non restrictive. Soft sounds reach my ears and as I struggle to process what they mean I feel a clammy weight rest against my temple.

Fighting to keep my vision clear of the dark mist inching its way from the edges, I struggle to focus on the blurring blob that trembles above me. Then something warm and wet taps onto my cheek; just below my eye and a loud sniff whooshes over my jaw.

"M… Mah… tt?"

A second sniff, and I swallow hard. "I… I screwed up… a-all of it."

The weight on my temple rocks. His head. It's getting too hard to hold anything in focus so I close my eyes slowly, wishing I could feel his arms, that I know are wrapped around me. Wishing that I could embrace him back.

"You didn't screw up," his voice cracks and a few more drops patter my face. "You…"

"Ma-hatt… I don't… Don't want to die."

A choked sob blasts my face, and he presses his face harder into mine. "You won't Mel. We'll fix you. I'll fix you, you'll see."

But I've already gone, fallen back into darkness that has waited so patiently to claim me finally.

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**End Authors Note:**

Hope it was worth the wait guys. ^-^ Read and Review.


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